#and what i have to say to that is: did you fucking listen to actual latino people about this issue? obviously not!

[creativepromptsforwriting]

Drabble List #11

75 prompts to write drabbles or longer stories.

"Oh no, that's heartbreaking."

"Finders keepers, losers weepers."

"I can't believe you've done this."

"You're a little to late for that."

"That's simply rock 'n' roll, baby."

"Give me ice cream. Now!"

"And this is how you do it."

"Such a sad thing to say."

"To be honest, I really don't care."

"It wasn't supposed to end like this."

"I went willingly."

"Why don't I believe you?"

"I want us to have a good relationship."

"I fear absolutely nothing."

"Want a massage?"

"It's a new law, look it up."

"Can you walk a bit faster maybe?"

"I don't know why yet."

"Don't say another word."

"That's something to celebrate!"

"Apologize and we're even."

"I hate that sound."

"This is too small."

"Get used to it."

"Oh, definitely not!"

"I am very disappointed right now."

"This is not practical at all."

"I will not take the blame for this."

"Well, tough luck, my friend."

"That's so tragic."

"No, don't say it, I want to guess!"

"I'm working on myself now."

"Can you please stop thinking so loud?"

"This is stressing me out so much."

"You can't let them get away with that."

"Are you finished, so you'll listen to me?"

"Wow, that's expensive!"

"No, not on my watch."

"That's a new low for you."

"I think, I have always been in love with you."

"You are actually scary."

"That cat hates me!"

"Please, stop looking like you want to kill me."

"Not surprised, but still disappointed."

"You're in for a big surprise."

"And I'm here to save you."

"What a failure."

"Explosive news."

"I need some assistance here."

"Aren't you happy to see me?"

"This is so embarrassing!"

"Does it start with the letter A?"

"Not the right place, not the right time."

"I'm a wonderful human being."

"That's not very nice."

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

"I don't even wanna know what you're thinking."

"It's too quiet here..."

"Totally on-brand for me."

"I fail to see how that is my problem."

"Well, I will make it your problem."

"Did you hear a word I said?"

"It's very fashionable."

"What doesn't kill me still hurts."

"Fucked around, found out."

"That's illegal."

"I hope you have insurance."

"Seems like you have to sleep here tonight."

"Could be better, but could also be worse."

"Tell me one thing that's true."

"I'm sick of all the lies."

"No response, as always."

"Do you think that's funny?"

"The train already left."

"Sign your name here. Now."

Drabble Masterlist

Have fun creating and writing!

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[alchemistc]

Tommy slumps further into the couch cushions, and the looks Eddie gives him is - dire, really. Tommy sort of wants to get shit faced and cry a little while cradling this throw pillow - the same one Evan had smacked him with a week ago while they crowded Eddie's too-small couch and Tommy had made fun of Evan for not knowing a single player on the Dodgers.

("You're actively rooting against them, why do you care if I know who they are?"

"Know thy enemy, Buckley," was Eddie's immediate response, and Evan had swung the pillow when he caught Tommy and Eddie fist bumping out of the corner of his eye.)

"Pretty sure it's actually cheating to come to me," Eddie intones, but he's already up and moving towards the cabinet where he keeps the good whiskey.

He settles into the recliner and gestures with the bottle, a very clear 'go on' in his expression.

Tommy thinks about maybe just - drowning himself in spirits and hiding under a rock for the rest of his life.

"I asked Evan to move in with me."

Eddie's brow kicks up. He purses his lip. Nods. His eyes do something that tells Tommy he is actively biting down on whatever it is he's thinking.

"And...you...fought. You fought about Buck ... moving in."

(Six months is such a short time, really. They've just leapt every other milestone like it's their damn job, and - Christ, they'd had keys to each other's places in weeks.)

Tommy narrows his eyes. "You know something."

"Yeah, and that's why this," he gestures vaguely in the direction of Tommy, fully pouting on his couch and commandeering too large a surface area for Eddie to actually join him there, "is cheating."

Tommy would love to point out that he just doesn't have a shit ton of friends willing to listen to him bitch about an argument he's trying to figure out without fucking imploding the whole goddamn thing. He'd love to point out that he and Eddie have already set these boundaries and Tommy is aware he's pushing it.

Tommy tilts his head against the back of the couch and stares at the ceiling. "Well if we can't talk about it, at least get me drunk."

Eddie hands him a shot glass and stands to go grab them both beers.

---

"So the thing is," Tommy says, slumped against Eddie's side and gesturing in front of himself. His hands are - they're a little blurry. Thank God he isn't on call. "The thing is."

He's got a hangnail that's been driving him nuts for weeks. He's already got a layout in his head for how to make Evan's wardrobe fit in his closet. Half of Evan's kitchen lives in Tommy's already, and he'd - he'd been sure they were in the same page.

"The thing?" Eddie asks, and - Christ, it's not like Eddie's having an easy time with any of the - anything. He's definitely overindulged right along with Tommy. Thank fuck they're not maudlin drunks, just what they need is two PTSD riddled idiots filled up with liquor and bemoaning their lives.

"What thing?"

"The thing, Tommy."

Right. The thing. "I love him," Tommy says, and Eddie's eyes go wide like he doesn't already know this. But Tommy - Tommy's said it in range of Eddie's hearing, right? He's - he's said it.

(The lone braincell shared between them whispers that Tommy has said it, once, to the curls atop Evan's sweaty head while Evan was still passed out on his chest. Fuck braincells.)

"Uhuh."

"What uhuh?"

You don't ask someone to move in with you when you still haven't worked up the courage to say I love you to someone's face, is the thing. And Evan's said it - happy and carefree and open even when Tommy just kissed him to distract him from Tommy not saying it back. He has to know, right? Tommy's said it in every other way he knows how.

"Listen, bro code broken, man, Buck's fucking terrified to mess this up with you and the whole 'you haven't said the words' has been, like, messing with his head for weeks, dude. And now outta the blue, hey move in with me? He's trying desperately not to assume you did something terrible and are using this to cover it up."

"He told you that?"

Eddie scoffs. He actually says 'pshhh', and rolls his head towards Tommy. "No." He enunciates too much. The 'o' is way too long in that word. It's a two letter word, how did he make it sound like seven syllables?

Tommy wants another shot, but Eddie had clearly not meant for that whiskey to be shared and it'd already been more than half gone when he pulled it out. There's...maybe half an ounce left. Fuck.

"Then how...?"

"I already broke bro code for you, dumbass. Can't you read between the lines?"

"Is this like the couch thing?"

The mindfuck of trying to decipher Eddie and Evan's little shared looks while Evan announced that Tommy's couch was his favorite couch had been -

He's getting off track.

He hasn't said the fucking words. He's in love with the sweetest, kindest, most beautiful, filthiest fucking man he's ever known and he hasn't said the words.

"Hamster wheel," Eddie says sagely, like that means a damn fucking thing, but Tommy's already fumbling for his phone. Texting that is out of the question, and he doesn't want to call while he's... more drunk than he'd care to admit.

Tommy shoves Eddie off his shoulder, and only gets a little spinny when he stands. He's a forty year old man, he can absolutely ask his boyfriend to pick him up from... his boyfriends best friends house and help him sober up so he can have a conversation.

"Water," Tommy says, and Eddie snorts.

"Toooo late."

Tommy feels about five years old when he shoves at Eddie's face before retreating to the kitchen.

---

"Tommy," Evan says, bent low over the couch, and Tommy blinks himself awake, regretting every drop of whiskey he'd drunk last night. He'd - there'd been water. An attempt at typing out a message. A slap fight in Eddie's kitchen when he decided to chow down on the last of the casserole Evan had left behind three days ago. More water.

This couch is way too fucking small for him. He's - he's still got one shoe on, and a blanket crumpled haphazardly over one leg. His head is pounding.

Evan looks - concerned. Maybe still a little annoyed. Fond.

"Ev," he manages, moving to sit up and regretting it when five million bees make a home right there against his frontal lobe. Smoke clears that out, right? He remembers Evan being super fucking proud that that had worked.

Evan holds up a glass of water that Tommy takes gratefully. He doesn't drink it nearly as slowly as he should.

When he's done, Evan stands, and - God his legs are long. Tommy loves those fucking legs - loves the hair that catches against his calluses on his way up towards the promised land, loves the strength behind them when he snaps his hips forward, loves the way they feel all wrapped around him when they're -

"We are not anywhere close to the sort of resolution necessary for that look," Evan says, and Tommy sighs. Because they haven't talked about it. Because they'd yelled and smacked their hands against counters and the explosion had sent them careening off in different directions and Tommy hasn't told him.

"Angry sex can be fun," Tommy wheedles, a little unnecessarily because he doesn't actually want - and on Eddie's couch to boot, which is absolutely not what he's angling for.

"I'm not mad at you," Evan says, and Tommy gives him an unimpressed look. "Okay, I'm mostly just - confused."

Fair enough. Tommy's been confusing. Tommy's been -

Tommy curls a hand around the meat of Evan's calf and tips his head against Evan's thigh. "Can we not do this in Eddie's living room?"

---

He doesn't want to admit that it took Eddie breaking all sorts of friendship rules for Tommy to even grasp the point of Evan freezing the fuck up when Tommy had mentioned his lease. He doesn't want to admit that he's fucking terrified, all the time, about the feelings in his chest that never quite settle, that bubble up at the strangest times because every-fucking-thing reminds him of Evan. He doesn't want to admit that he'd just leapt that hurdle in his mind even though Evan has been very clearly marking every other step with metaphorical (and sometimes literal) sticky notes.

Evan hands him his tea and immediately starts picking at the paper sleeve on his cup of coffee.

"I'm not afraid of losing you," Tommy starts, which is - the opposite of the point he's trying to make, and Evan's grimace tells him it's a bad place to start. "I mean that's not why I asked."

Evan is still grimacing. And that's - Christ, he hadn't even planned it, it was just - he'd been there, digging through Tommy's sock drawer, his shit tumbling out of his overnight bag at the end of the bed and his book on the history of perfume in the bedside table and his crock pot stewing something that smelled heavenly, thirty feet away, and he wanted that always, wanted that forever, wanted more than anything to enjoy all the little moments that came before he spent the money in savings hed been setting aside since successful date number five when he'd wondered if Evan had ever thought about getting married.

"You think I asked out of convenience, right? Your stuff's already there, might as well?"

"I'm not leaving things there on purpose."

"I want you to leave things there on purpose. I want all your things there, on purpose. Even when you move my milk to the fridge door and my sugar stash to the wrong pantry shelf and even when you replace my toothpaste because it doesn't have the right enamel protection."

His lip quirks. That had been a near argument too. Tommy was particular. Tommy didn't do great with change. Evan's changed damn near fucking everything, for Tommy, and he's never been more grateful for a single thing in his fucking life.

Tommy curls a finger around Evan's wrist, and his gaze darts up through his lashes. They're long, and distracting, and Tommy wouldn't mind shoving this disagreement to the side so he can brush his lips across the paper thin lids of his eyes, but -

"I missed some steps, getting there," Tommy admits, and Evan bites his lip like he's trying to hide a smile.

"My fault, a bit. I - I could see why you might have just assumed we were scaling 'em two at a time."

"Evan," he says, and breathes a sigh of relief when his free hand darts out to smooth the veins on the back of Tommy's hand.

"Next week is six months," he says, like Tommy doesn't fucking know that, and his thumb sweeps over Tommy's knuckles. "So, i -if you have anything you wanna say before then, you got a week before you can ask me again."

(Six months is the blink of an eye, actually, but Tommy hates every blink that doesn't include Evan in it.)

"You got plans?" Tommy asks, and Evan's face pinkens.

"If you're lucky I'll even tell you them."

"It's a date."

[p1utofairy]

★ your next glow up?

note — i wasn't gonna post this now but i figured fuck it why not?! enjoy, my loves! this is for entertainment purposes only <3 take what resonates and leave what doesn’t. p.s. come in my ask box and tell me what you think!

PILE ONE.

pile mf ONE, you are really stepping into a new era! when i tell you this new you is gonna turn HEADS. tuh, you’re gonna be looking like new money. nicki minaj’s ‘new body’ verse is coming to mind lol “you ain’t fuck me, you fucked the old body. you ain’t fuck nicki, you fucked nicole body! ain’t no miles on this here new body, off with they heads these bitches is nobody’s.” OH YEAH OKAYYY, PILE 1. maybe you’ll be hitting the gym more, switching up your diet or possibly getting some cosmetic work done?

whatever you’re doing differently, it’s gonna be noticeable. people are gonna feel like something changed with you overnight like “um when did pile 1 get so bad?” and this isn’t to say you aren’t already attractive…there’s just something about your energy and confidence that just amplified x1000 and people are really gonna feel and see this change in you. you might start experimenting with your outfits a little more, giving off a more seductive vibe. it’s like you're breaking out of your comfort zone especially if you usually opt for baggier clothes or a more conservative look. wait cause why am i thinking of ‘pretty little liars’ when emily is talking to aria about hanna and she’s like “haven’t you heard? she’s the it girl now.” PERIOD, PILE ONE. giving serena page vibes from love island.

there will be a lot of talk about you and even if you don’t hear it directly, trust me, people are gonna try to keep tabs on you. i’m seeing people re-watch your instagram stories tryna figure out who took you that place and who you’re doing it with — oh these people are spiralingggg. this could very well be potential suitors tryna scope out the scenery, but they’re not sure if you’ll be interested in them. they might fear rejection because you just look so damn good and it looks like you’re in such a better space in life and got your shit together; whereas they feel like they lack the resources/finances to be with you. these potential love interests see you as high value, pile 1. they’re intimidated by your beauty and aura. you’ll be more so focused on attracting a partner that can actually make shit happen.

you don’t have time for the cat and mouse games. you want the real deal and i do see you getting the person that you want. you manifested this person into your life and i sense them feeling like they won the lottery with you! i’m hearing that you are sooo mesmerizing on the outside and your heart & personality makes you so much more beautiful. there’s layers to you and i think this next glow up will allow you to really shine and be yourself unapologetically – you’re leaning into the different aspects of yourself that makes you unique. if there’s anything you’ve got your mind set on or something specific you want to do, go for it! whatever you do, you’ll stand out effortlessly and be successful. ‘say yes’ by floetry is coming to mind. “see, i’ve been watching you for awhile…your smile and style. wanna know if i can be with you for the night, alright.” i meannnnn need i say more?!

how to tap into this energy?

listen closely to your intuition! work on your third eye because i’m hearing that you’re a powerful manifester and you don’t even truly know it. even if you do know this, you start doubting yourself and limiting your own thoughts. always think big and bigger because it’s in your reach. don’t get so caught up in the “how?” because your manifestations can appear in many different ways, not just one. you have a clear vision into the future – you just gotta adjust your lens and focus on what it is that YOU want. who cares if it doesn’t make sense to anyone else, as along as you see the vision then it’s a go! listen to ‘i want it all’ by sharpay evans lol you need to embody that song and its energy.

PILE TWO.

hey, pile 2! i’m hearing you’ve been putting up with the bullshit for wayyyy too long and this next glow up is gonna be a proper FUCK YOU to all your haters! i feel like people take your kindness for weakness and you feel like you don’t get the respect you deserve. you can deal with a lot of passive aggression in your relationships or friendships and people expect for you to suck it up and be okay with it. what i’m mainly picking up is that you like to keep the peace. you don’t want to ruffle anyone’s feather, but it just makes it worse for you because you’re not truly expressing yourself and your emotions. this keeps you up at night like “ugh! i should’ve said this or I should’ve stuck up for myself and finally cussed so and so tf out.” but you don’t because you know why, pile 2? you’re better than them, simple as that.

you wouldn’t treat anybody how some people treat you, and the reality is that it’s so much harder to be nice than it is to be mean. anybody can be mean and say hurtful shit if they really wanted to, but to always be graceful and kind in the face of adversity and ignorance? rare af. +10000 aura points! don’t let anybody make you feel less than or like you can’t speak up for yourself. this next glow up you’re going to use your voice and really make it known that you are not to be fucked with, okay?! you will be standing your ground and really popping your shit in the most calm and collected way possible & people are gonna be like “wait…did [y/n] really just clock me like that?!” and you’re gonna be standing 10 toes down on it as you should. they’ll have no choice but to respect you lol. you will start to realize what is worth your time & energy and what isn’t.

you might start cutting off people that don’t mean you any good and really start to focus on yourself and your energy. no more walking on egg shells and sparing peoples feelings, this is YOUR life and you have a voice just as much as they do – so use it! i think you’ll also be meeting new friends & a potential love interest during this next glow up. i’m hearing ‘how stella got her groove back’ lol so yeah some of you might be playing the field a little bit.

some of you might just want something casual and nothing more because you just want to focus on your own healing journey. you’ll start to understand why things had to happen the way that they did & why certain relationships didn’t work out the way that you thought they would. you’ll be able to decipher what you are and aren’t willing to put up with and honestly i just see you bossing tf up and advocating for yourself no matter who doesn’t like it. that tiktok “nobody loves you baby! you should only love yourself – ON MY SOUL!” just randomly came to me lmfaooo this is your ‘i’m focusing on what really matters aka me’ era and i think it’s exactly what you need pile 2.

how to tap into this energy?

i think you need to transmute the negative energy that people try to project on you into something positive. 12:12 on the clock, yeah. like look at this way, if people doubt you, don’t respect you or don’t feel like your capable of achieving great things then use that to your advantage. let them underestimate you all they want, and then BAM boss up on them and show them who tf you are. what they don’t know only makes you stronger. you have the power to make some powerful ass connections and make a name for yourself so be calculated & strategic with your moves. people will be eating their words when it comes to you, pile 2.

PILE THREE.

pile 3 your next glow up is gonna be a bit of an emotional rollercoaster ngl, but very rewarding nonetheless. i’m hearing that one tiktok sound “you gotta take the good with the bad, smile with the sad. love what you got and remember what you had.” so yeah i think you’re really gonna be figuring out how to transmute your energy and create something from it – whether that be a job opportunity, a love offer, a trip, etc. there’s something that you really want and you’re doing the work to make it happen. you have the plan, you just need the platform lol.

for some of you, i see a major relationship coming to an end. this could be a lover or a best friend, but this person will be exposed because they’re not who you thought they were. this person has very sneaky/deceptive energy and you’ve been in the dark about this for way too long. this person/connection means a lot to you, so you will feel like this is a tough situation to completely walk away from; but my sweet pile 3’s you will be more than okay! you will be spectacular! 10:10 was just on the clock.

allow yourself to sort through your emotions and learn from the situation, don’t let it weigh you down. sometimes we get too caught up in how long we’ve been with somebody and all of the good memories we made with them, that makes us hesitant to move on. sometimes things just run its course and you’re no longer in alignment with that person. you can’t force anything or anyone in your life that doesn’t align with your highest self and that can be very hard to process when emotions are involved but i’m happy to let you know there’s light at the end of the tunnel.

i see some of you traveling to a place you’ve always wanted to go and possibly meeting a potential love interest. in this next glow up, you’ll be doing things that you’ve always wanted to do cause there’s no one holding you back. you’re stepping out of your comfort zone and just taking a leap of faith – high risk, high reward. you’re gonna be making time for yourself and also prioritizing your hobbies/interests. this is beautiful, pile 3. i see you really getting in touch with who you are at the core. be kind and gentle with yourself, because you are a precious gem that a lot of people value and care about.

how to tap into this energy?

stop giving your power away. work on your throat chakra, my loves. your voice is your power and it’s one of the major keys to your success. a closed mouth doesn’t get fed, so you need to speak up and communicate what it is that YOU want and not just say what people want to hear. this next glow up will really have you standing in your power. release is needed especially verbally cause you know that tight feeling you get in your throat when you’re tryna stop yourself from crying? yeah no more of that. no more walking on egg shells, pile 3. say what you feel and stand on it & watch how the tides turn in your favor. mwah!

PILE FOUR.

alright, pile 4! for this next glow up i see you moving. some of you might actually be moving into a new home or apartment and it’s gonna grant you so much peace and comfort. for others of you, this could be you moving on emotionally from a toxic relationship and/or familial bond and finally getting the clarity and peace you need to cut all ties and move onto something better. whatever the situation may be, it was weighing heavy on you and making you feel very down.

you’re gonna feel so free when you leave this situation behind, it’s not even funny. i’m hearing that you were a gilded bird in a cage. some of you could’ve been moving from place to place, not feeling quite settled or financially stable. if you feel lost right now and like you don’t know what to do with your life/where it’s taking you, i just wanna say keep going – W.A.Y.S. by jhené aiko is coming to mind. “if there's one thing that i learned while in those county lines, is that everything takes time. you have gotta lose your pride, you have gotta lose your mind just to find your peace of mind.” awww yeah that’s your theme song for this next glow up. things might not make sense right now, but please trust me when i say that everything is going to work out in your favor & things will be better than you could ever imagine.

you will be blessed with the tools you need to get to this next phase of your life. you are the source, pile 4. whatever you put your mind to, you can surely achieve! don’t let 3D circumstances throw you off, you are so abundant and prosperous you will see in this next glow up just how much of a powerful manifester you really are. you’re still trying to find yourself and figure out where you fit in in the world, but you don’t have to put yourself in a box, pile 4. pave your own way and once you do others will want to follow suit. no one can see your future the way that you do, so keep doing your thing because i’m seeing that you will come across people/friends that share similar interests and niches as you. awww pile 4 you’re going to find your soul tribe.

you have this flighty energy about you (air sign energy/esp gemini) like you’re from one thing to the next and you can’t figure out what you truly want to do. some of you might be in college or almost about to graduate and when people ask you “do you know what you want to do?” you’re like uhhhh….]>|>]^>.]€]€]£ like you truly don’t know but like that’s okay cause actually you do know! on a soul level, you know. what’s understood doesn’t have to be explained pile 4 lol people might not get it now but when you pop out living the life you’ve always dreamed of, TUH. they’ll understand then.

how to tap into this energy?

get out of your head so much and just vibe, pile 4. you can plan plan plan all you want but the reality is: shit happens! it might annoy you or make you feel incredibly frustrated when another problem or inconvenience pops up in your life, but there’s nothing you can’t overcome. it’s life. you will be greatful for these experiences in the long run because it will be another bridge that you’ve already crossed and dealt with, so you won’t fold under pressure – you’ll just already know what to do. you got this, pile 4. shit is about to get really good for you.

[themultifanshipper]

As soon as you saw the time go to 0 during a yellow flag and Lando in p16, peeling into the pits after an aborted lap, you knew exactly what was about to happen.

Yes I forgot to post this and it's too weeks late SUE ME

Warnings: Lando being an annoying whiny self deprecating little bitch, handjob, edging, crying

Part 4 of 'One of the Boys'

You were already in his driver’s room when he came in, tears in his eyes and in need of some company.

None of it was his fault obviously, but he still felt the need to berate himself.

“It's all my fault”

“I should have gone out earlier”

“I should have skipped the out lap”

“I should have b-“

You listened to him beat himself up for over 20 fucking minutes before you decided to stop him.

“None of it is your fault La-“

But he just kept talking over you and his voice was getting wobblier with each sentence.

“Lando”

He just kept going, and going, completely ignoring you, and you actually got angry.

So you slapped him across the face.

That got his attention.

It wasn't hard enough to really hurt but he would definitely feel the sting, and he brought his hand up to feel his cheek as his jaw dropped.

His breathing was becoming shallow and his pupils were rapidly taking over the gray of his irises.

A tear rolled down his cheek and he whispered, barely loud enough for you to hear.

“Again”

So you did. Slightly harder this time, on the other cheek.

He gulped in a breath, a few more tears escaping.

Your hands came up to cup his face and he whimpered pitifully.

“Please”

It broke your heart to see him like this, but he was so beautiful, face all flushed and wet.

“I'm here for you Lan, what do you need?”

He closed his eyes and nuzzled into your palm, letting out the first calm breath since he'd got out of his car.

“I don't know... I just want to forget today ever happened.”

You leaned over and gently pressed your lips to his forehead.

“I've got you, just focus on me, okay?”

He looked at you and nodded.

You took the liberty of climbing onto his lap, unzipping his suit and sliding a hand inside his underwear to find that he was already hard.

“Damn... you really like being roughed up don't you?”

You tightened your grip on him and he whimpered, biting his lip raw and leaning his head back on the sofa.

“please” he groaned.

You chuckled and planted a kiss under his jaw bone. “Please what?”

You sped up your movements, brushing your thumb over his tip on every upstroke and he gasped.

His thighs clenched and unclenched and he soon started trembling uncontrollably.

“Please don't stop. I'm so close”

You pulled the neckline of his fireproofs down to nibble on the skin at the base of his neck and his hips bucked up involuntarily.

“Now then Lando, tell me about your qualifying”

He frowned.

“What do you mean? I fucked up and- Ahh!”

Your grip was tight around the base of his cock and he yelped, head snapping up to look at you with wide eyes.

“No! What-“

“You answered wrong, Lando”

Once he had stopped pulsing in your hand you resumed your movements, immediately going fast and hard, trying to draw him to the edge as quickly as possible.  

“I- I- Oh my god! I don't know what you want me to say!”

“Yes you do Lando, tell me what happened and I'll let you come” you purred, distracting him with kisses along his jawline.

“I didn't-  fuck, I didn't have time to finish the lap...” he started, voice shaking with need. “b- before the yellow flag”

“Mmh, and who's fault was that, Lando?”

He let out little puffs of breath every time you flicked your wrist, letting you know he was close to the edge again, but you knew he was still beating himself up, so you stopped again and squeezed the base of his cock just as he was about to come.

He wailed and almost managed to dislodge you with how he was squirming in pain, but you refused to let him come until he admitted none of it was his fault.

A few tears streamed down his cheeks and he sobbed openly, in the safe space between you two.

He calmed down a bit and you resumed, paying special attention to his sensitive head, and he bucked up into your hold once again.

“Answer me Lando, who's fault was it that you got sent out too late? Who's fault was the yellow flag? Was it your fault?”

He was clenching his entire body in an effort to keep himself together enough to answer.

“No! It wasn't my fault! There's nothing- ah! Nothing I could have done!”

You smiled at him, cupping his face again with your unoccupied hand.

“Good boy, Lando. You're right” you wiped the stray tears away and kissed him sweetly.

 “there's nothing you could have done, you just got caught out by a yellow flag. Now you can come”

His back arched and he let out a painful wail as it all came crashing down, the tension and stress melting away.

He came so much it stained his fireproofs all the way up to the neckline, and dripped down your hand to irretrievably dampen his suit so that there was a big dark patch.

You slowed the movement of your hand and eventually let go of him, wiping your cum streaked hand on his suit.

You kissed him and his hands came to rest on your hips, squeezing affectionately.

“Thank you” he said as you separated, closing his eyes and basking in the afterglow.

“Anytime” you giggled, climbing off him and looking for your bag, checking your phone.

“Now go celebrate with your team, Oscar got p2 and he'll be devastated if you’re not there” you scolded, voice laced with humour as he looked at you through his lashes and groaned.

“I don't think I can walk after that, and I'm not going to be able to drive tomorrow!” he pouted. “Not that it would make a difference if I did...”

“I'll tell you what” you said, hanging back in the open doorway “If you end up higher than p5 tomorrow, you can have me after the race”

Lando laughed “Deal”

That was never going to happen, but a man could dream, right?

[kittykat-25]

HOME- An S.Coups Fic

Pairing: Seungcheol x F. Reader

Genre: Comfort, Scoups savings the day

Synopsis: you've never had an issue with hiding your relationship with Seungcheol but he does when your ex gets a little too close.

A/N: this is basically the story from the SVT men’s POV. Straight from when they answer Y/n’s call.

Jeonghan sipped his beer, listening to Mingyu tell Joshua the right way to sauté something, poor soul not noticing the evil gleam in Shuas eye. “So you’re telling me I can chop up anything and put it in a pan and it’s a sauté?” He said, voice cracking from hiding his laughter. “Hyunggg” Mingyu whined making Jeonghan smile more. As close as they all were it was rare they got to spend one night free together like this. “Cheol hurry up.” Joshua yelled as the baseball game started back up, none of them really watching. Cheols phone blasting his ringtone snapped Jeonghan out of his thoughts. A warm smile filled his face when y/n filled the screen. “Choi Seungcheols phone, the other love of his life speaking!” Jeonghan said to his best friend, Cheols girlfriend as he switched to speaker. “Hannie-“ her tone alone made all conversation stop. All eyes turned towards the phone, “y/n what’s wrong?” He asked gently. She was out with her friends from the states tonight, he knew she was excited to see them but she sounded almost broken on the phone. Everything he heard was muffled but he picked up enough of the conversation to be pissed. The other three men started at the phone in horror at what her supposed closest friend was saying to her. “Oh please, we both know you don’t actually have a boyfriend. You just want to make it seem like you have it together over here. When clearly you are losing it.“ y/n’s friend spat. “What the hell?” Mingyu said as him and Wonwoo moved closer to the phone. “Fuck you.” They heard you snip back. A small smile graced his face, you were fighting back. Something you rarely did when they met you. You had met them a month after moving here and quickly won over all of their hearts, becoming a sister to many of them. You and Cheol had been dating for the past 8 months and there was nothing their leader wouldn’t do for you.

He heard the long exhale from y/n, “y/n?” He asked gently. “Please come get me.” Y/n said into the phone. Her voice cracking. Joshua walked to the door “CHEOL” he yelled at their other friend. “What?!” He snappped back walking into the room. “Y/n, we need to go. Now.” Joshua said sliding his shoes on as Jeonghan kept you calm. Cheol grabbed the phone from Jeonghan, “Baby? What happened?” He asked, noticing just how pissed his friends were as he shut the car door. ““Her friends are dicks, did they tell you your ex was going to be here.” Jeonghan asked, as the car connected the call through the speakers. Jeonghan tried to control his anger, but looking in the mirror and seeing the same protective anger from his friends. He let out a deep breath, noticing the tight white knuckle grip Cheol had on the steering wheel as you spoke. The air in the car turned icy as the sentence came out of your mouth. “He won’t stop making comments and- touching me.” You add that last bit quieter, knowing your audience well. “Shit.” Mingyu whispered as Cheols grip got tighter on the wheel, the car speeding up. It was Wonwoo who spoke, his deep voice coming out harsher “he touched you?” Y/n sucked in a breath before apologizing, “I’m interrupting guys night, I’m so sorry.” Cheol blew out a breath, “Don’t you dare apologize for calling me when you need me baby.” His eyes fill with worry, before masking back into anger. “We’re five minutes away y/n. We’ll see you soon.” Jeonghan calls to you before he ends the call.

“I’m gonna kill him.” Cheol grounds out, “no you’re not.” Joshua says calmly from the backseat. “You know you can’t.” Cheol blew out an exasperated breath. “He touched her Shua.” Joshua patted Cheol shoulder, “I know but Y/N is perfectly capable of defending herself.” “She shouldn’t have to defend herself against her friends.” Wonwoo mumbled, clenching his fist. “Get her out safely. That’s all I care about.” Cheol said, the voice of their leader silencing them all. “What about cameras? Or publicity for this?” Mingyu asked quietly. “I don’t care, Pledis can handle it or I can but I won’t let the media keep me from getting my girl when she needs me. You can stay in the car if you’re that worried.” Cheol snapped. “Cheol calm down.” Jeonghan said calmly. “We all care about y/n, we all heard the crap spewed at her. We just want you to handle this with a clear head. That’s all.” The echos of agreement from the backseat gave Cheol some peace. They pulled up in front of the restaurant, Cheol had just opened the door when he saw y/n slam a knife into the table, seemingly into her exes hand. Although judging by the lack of screaming, you had missed. “That was hot.” Mingyu whispered, “never call my girlfriend hot again.” Cheol said as he strode over to you, Jeonghan hot on his heels.

Crossing the space in record time, Jeonghan knew there was no stopping Cheol as your ex raised his hand to hit you. His friend caught his wrist as Jeonghan stepped closer to you. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” Cheol spat, shoving him away. Jeonghan watched your bitchy friends face light up then completely crash down as she processed who had come to your defense. “please take her to the car.” Cheol said quietly to Jeonghan. As he offered his hand to help his girlfriend up, y/n turned to walk with Jeonghan, his other friends faces a storm of rage. But y/n was smiling as she strode towards her friends. Jeonghan turned back towards the table, just as Cheol leaned down. “If you ever touch my girlfriend again, that knife will be buried somewhere else.” His voice icy, one of the friends flinched away. “She deserves so much better than any of you.” Jeonghan said looking directly at the other girl who had shrunk away before turning on his heel and following his friends out the door.

A/N: soooo apparently I can’t stop with this story because I’m feeling an epilogue with the car ride home👀👀 if anyone would be interested in that!!

Taglist: let me know if you want to be added

@hi-cherry

[ariaste]

A Discussion on Book Endings

Hey, friends. Thanks for coming today. I'm sorry to break it to you, but this is an intervention. Please, don't get defensive -- everyone here loves you and cares about you. But listen... I'm gonna need book readers and reviewers to reflect on the idea that finishing a book and going "Oh, I loved it so much, but I wish it was just a few pages longer!" is not really a valid point of negative critique in the assessment of a text.

Let me explain.

When I read people's otherwise wildly positive reviews of books and they say that line, I don't interpret it in context as, "This story needed to be a few pages longer for the plot to work, structurally, and for the ending to achieve a solid resolution." Rather, they basically seem to be saying simply, "I loved it and I didn't want it to end." That's always a GREAT feeling, but then they're.... taking points off from their total rating because of that??? They seem to be penalizing the author because they weren't left with a feeling of "Ugh, thank god it's over"? It's like, "This would have been five stars if it had had just one more chapter but it made me sad that it ended, so four stars" -- Guys, do we understand that's an insane take? It's insane. A book has to end. If you shriek "NO!!!" that it's over because you were having such a great time, that's... that's a symptom of a 5-star book, babes. I'm not sure why there's such a fashion these days for penalizing authors for this particular thing in this particular way, but it's really baffling to me.

But setting aside the puzzling trend of "I'm knocking points off because it ended when it should have gone on until I personally was fully bored and exhausted of it, like the 11th season of a TV show that was only supposed to go until season 4" -- listen, I guarantee you that nine times out of ten, when you're out here longing for just one more chapter or saying "this could have used an epilogue" you... are wishing for something that would have actively ruined your enjoyment and the quality of the book.

Are you a writer yourself? Have you ever finished writing a book before? Have you done it more than once? Have you deeply studied the endings of books? They are HARD, let me tell you what. Endings are so much harder than beginnings, because you're looking for that beautiful final note, like the ending of a symphony, and you're trying to ride it for a few glorious seconds before the FLOURISH and dum-dummmmmm....! and the conductor collapses as the audience bursts into applause! Right? Yes? Except that chances are that one more chapter or epilogue would ruin the pacing and resolution of the ending and muddle up the summary of the theme and thesis statement, and all of this WOULD ACTUALLY fuck up your experience of the story as a whole. For example, please consider the last Harry Potter book as an example. We all hate JKR now for being a TERF but oh, children, how quickly we forget that back in the olden times, we used to hate her for that fucking epilogue that made everything that came before feel rancid and pointless and hollow and cheap. Y'all remember how sickening and infuriating that was? Do you remember the Hunger Games epilogue? Nine times out of ten, that's what you're inexplicably wishing for.

To see this point illustrated, let's do a quick exercise together. Go pick out a piece of classical music -- some of my best suggestions for this are Beethoven's Ode to Joy, or "Der Holle Rache" from Mozart's Magic Flute, or Tchaikovsky's 1812 Overture. Listen to it all the way through. If you're struggling with scrolling addiction and your attention span has been severely damaged, fine, listen to the last two minutes ("Der Holle Rache" is the shortest, just 3 minutes). Then, after the song is done, click back to some random spot earlier in the piece, listen to another 30 seconds, and then stop. Consider: Did adding that last 30 seconds materially improve the piece, or did it undermine the overall emotional journey? Did it help the ending to stick the landing even more than it already did, or does it just feel weirdly stuck-on as an afterthought, like the "for more fun videos, check out the rest of our channel and don't forget to subscribe!!!" card at the end of youtube videos?

When you are wishing for an epilogue, my doves, you are wishing for something you do not actually want -- or which you probably would not want if you had the option to see it in practice and compare it side by side with the original. You are wishing for something that would more than likely make the story worse. You are holding the author at fault for something being wrong with the text only because you hit immersion and were having a lot of fun and didn't want to come back up for air. Like, I'm just not sure that's something that the author should be blamed for? It sounds like they were doing their job really well???

Please, just. Separate your feelings of "bittersweet disappointment that this wonderful book is over" from "frustration that the author didn't stick the landing, ugh what a flop" because they are two separate things. Before you say "I'm taking points off because I wish there was more", please take two seconds to ask yourself critical thinking questions like, "Why did the author choose to end the book here rather than in two more chapters?" because (other than a few wild outliers that should not be counted) the answer is never, "They got bored and just didn't feel like finishing the story." Chances are, they chose that specific ending for a reason. They ended it there because that's the point that underlines the thesis statement of the book, or because the emotions of that scene are the ones they want you to remember and walk away with, or because that marks the place where the story arc is genuinely over. When the author says, "And they all lived happily ever after," that means that what happily-ever-after looks like is in your hands now.

Nine times out of ten, you don't want one more chapter. Please. I promise you that you don't want one more chapter. The book is done; what you want now is either fanfiction or someone to talk about it with. Or maybe to start the book over from the beginning! Believe me, you would not want one more chapter if you had it. (Or, if you did have it and it magically didn't suck, you would just keep wanting more chapters because that's what "really enjoying the book" means. In which case, go read fanfic, that's what it is for.) I promise you, I promise you, the book would probably be worse with one more chapter and you would not like it as much. Please stop wishing for the author to be less good at their job. Please. A book has to end; so does this post. And we all live happily ever after*. The End.

----- * The post-canon coffeeshop AU sequel will be detailed exhaustively on AO3

[bluesidez]

Gym Rat Miguel Part 14

content warning: mentions of vomit/vomit related terms, more angst

word count: 3.4k (shoutout to the BETAAAA @slushycoookie)

Prev | Next ✩°｡ ⋆⸜ 🎧✮ Masterlist

It was cold.

So cold.

The last thing he remembers was the prickles of the concrete through his pants.

Everything kept replaying in his head as if he were watching it unfold before him again. He still felt the way you pushed him, parts of his body flashing from where you shoved. The expression on your face was scorned and burned into his memory. The corners of your lips were deep, your eyes lost all color, your hands were trembling despite the steady tone in your voice, and you fought to keep the tears from running. It pained him.

He hurt you again and it was all a misunderstanding, again.

How was he so bad at this?

Miguel felt scared as he failed in opening up his constricted throat, but he couldn't stop it.

He kept thinking that maybe you would come back, maybe you were just around the corner waiting, but it feels like it’s been forever since you ran out of his room.

He needs to call you.

He needs to see you.

He needs to be near you.

Why can’t he?

“Miguel.”

A harsh hand shocks his shoulders, shaking him until the pivots and brick of the wall behind him scratch across his skin.

“Hey. Listen to me. Can you hear me?”

A frantic voice reaches the end of his ears, but it sounds far away. Was it his name? Were they talking to him?

It’s still so cold. His feet feel numb and his fingers won’t move.

The voice stops calling him and the hills in the wall are back in their rightful place, digging into his skin.

He wonders if you’re cold too.

The breath is knocked out of him, his eyes focusing on the ground under him. The air comes back into his lungs just as fast, the wind aiding him.

When did it start raining?

“Miguel,” he’s shaken again, but he can look up this time.

Peter squats in front of him with a worried face, orange bucket knocked over by his side.

“Did you just pour that on me?” is all Miguel thinks to say, his voice scratchy and almost gone.

“I panicked, ok? It was either this or the ambulance. It’s so weird to just drag your body back inside. Come on, get up before our RA actually does his job.”

With more strength than Miguel thought he had, Peter yanks him up and supports his weight, counting even steps as he guides him to their dorm room. The blood is slowly flowing back to his fingertips and the difference in temperature makes the hair on his skin rise.

One guy walks past the two of them with a look of curiosity, but the sense to not ask. Miguel starts to register how this looks.

Peter gets the door open fast and drops Miguel on a beanbag.

“You know, I didn’t expect for your party to turn out this wild. However, I also would have expected you to crash out back here. Or there. Or just, not in front of the dorm.”

Miguel’s body slumped and the events of today came crashing back onto him. He laughs, feeling the tears of his face mix with the water dripping from his hair.

He did have a party today and he did fuck up today. Majorly. The heels of his palms dig into his eyes as his body jerks, unable to keep up with his sobbing.

His roommate panics, “Did I say something wrong?”

Through what feels like a torturous hour, Miguel tells Peter what happens.

He was devastated.

It’s like a punch in the gut to repeat the words you said to him. They were like a betrayal, salt to the wound that was the finicky air between you both. He should have done more to communicate with you but instead he was leaving things up for chance.

You didn’t leave room for if’s or maybe’s and he stood there like a bumbling idiot, fighting to have you hear him.

On top of that, today was still his birthday. The party that one of his oldest friends gave to him sucked. A pack of gum would have been a better gift and for the life of him, he couldn’t understand why Xina did this.

Through this same hour, Miguel can’t stop crying. He can’t stop thinking about you and he wants to tear his heart out.

It’s not until his head hits his pillow that he has serenity, body tired from the day.

He thinks he’s called your number over seventy times. After the tenth call, the line didn’t connect. By the twentieth, there was only one ring and an automated tone.

By the thirtieth call, he’s trying not to freak out. By the fortieth call, he’s checking instagram to reach you there, but of course, you’re nowhere to be found.

By the fiftieth call, he’s sending message after message to the brick wall that is your number. At sixty, he’s considering digging up your school email from last year.

At call seventy-one, he’s wondering if carrier pigeons still exist.

It’s almost noon and Peter threatened to put his phone in a box if he didn’t stop trying to call you. Miguel hasn’t really moved since last night, not because it hurts, but because the warmth of the bed still felt like you were with him.

He hasn’t gotten up to eat or workout which is not the norm. He wasn’t hungry and his limbs felt extremely heavy.

Peter left to go find him something quick and easy, but Miguel isn’t sure if would be able to stomach it.

His phone buzzes, and a small part of him perks up hoping that it’s you.

Gabriel’s picture lights up the screen, a silly photo of him with his crooked goggles on inside of the water. The hope in him dies a little more.

He presses the green button and buries himself further into the sheets.

“What is up! I’m guessing you had a wild night last night since you didn’t call anybody.”

“I-“

“But before you tell me everything, I’ve got to catch you up. First of all, a squirrel stole my Aki-way sandwich. I knew Alvin and his brothers were giving their species a run for their money, but what did he say fuck me for? Then, it’s been a freaky ass club trying to get me to join in on their sexcapades. Dana said I could have eye candy, but the people in there honestly give me the heebie jeebies. Oh! I am now a godfather to several tiny doodles. My roommate’s dog unfortunately went on the prowl.”

Gabriel paused.

“Miguel, what’s wrong? You haven’t given your obligatory one to two sentences to break up my yapping.”

“Break up.”

“What?”

“She. She broke up with me.”

The silence was so long that when Gabriel started laughing, Miguel’s nerves jumped in his skin.

“That is actually so funny, like seriously. You got me,” Gabriel focuses the blurry screen back onto his face. “Are you crying?”

Miguel dropped the phone on his bed and sat up, bringing the collar over his shirt over his eyes and back down.

“Miguel, I thought you were joking. Please tell me you’re joking. This isn’t haha funny.”

“Why would I ever joke about this?” Miguel picked the phone back up, voice raw.

“Well, what happened? I don’t understand! You were so excited to see her yesterday. And- and you guys just had your anniversary.”

“I know that. God, I-I know that.”

“And I’ve never seen you this head-over-heels for anybody, not even for that girl that entertained you for like a week in high school. Did you do something?”

“Gabriel, please let me talk.”

His brother made a face as if milliseconds were too long of a time to think.

“This semester has been tough on both of us and we, no I, haven’t been making time to see her. It’s either studying or class or something else that gets in the way.”

“That’s not enough to warrant a break up. You’re not that shallow and neither is she.”

“She thinks I cheated on her.”

Gabriel sits up and tilts his head with a frown, “Huge bomb to drop out of nowhere. She’s all you can talk about sometimes, as in you can’t think about anything else besides her. And if school is causing you guys to not meet up, when do you have time to cheat?”

“I don’t! Even if I were to be in an alternate world where I’m this sleazy, terrible boyfriend, I wouldn’t have time. I go to the gym, I go to class, I go to the library, I go to my dorm. It’s because Xina is always-“

“Pause,” Gabriel put a hand to the screen. “Stop the fucking music.”

“What.”

“What do you mean Xina?”

“What do you mean, what do I mean?”

“Xina. As in the one who kicked me out of your room when we were younger?”

“Yes.”

“As in the one who didn’t give you the time of day for years, but became friendly once you beat her highest test scores.”

“Yes.”

“As in the one who completely flipped the dynamic of your friend group.”

“That’s-“ Miguel falters, but Gabriel keeps going.

“The one who was at our house constantly, especially when she found out that your dad owns the biggest tech company ever.”

“She didn’t-“

“The one who mom conveniently likes.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“The one who’s been pining after you for years.”

“No, she has not. Why do people keep saying that?”

Gabriel barked out a laugh again, harsh. “Miguel, I love you, but you can’t be this much of a dumbass.”

Miguel clicked his teeth as Gabriel continued, over this conversation.

“Do you see the connection I’m making here? Or should I spell it out further. Because it’s so clear to me what’s happening and you don’t even have to finish the story.”

“The story is that my girlfriend just dumped me because she thinks that I’m cheating on her with Xina-“

“But why, Miguel? Why does she think that?”

“I,” he takes a breath and thinks back to what you told him while you were hurt, vulnerable on this same bed. “I have been spending a lot of time with her, but only because we share classes. And because she’s my friend. I don’t want to be with her.”

“Does Xina know that?”

“Of course she knows she’s my friend. I have no reason to not be her friend.”

Gabriel made a noncommittal noise.

“What the fuck does that mean, Gabriel?”

“Don’t get pissed off at me because I’m not gonna coddle you for being an idiot.”

Miguel wanted to end the call, but he knows it’s only going to rile Gabriel up more.

“It’s so blatantly obvious that Xina likes you. Not as a friend, but as someone to date, whether it’s superficial or not. I’m not sure how you went so long without noticing, but here we are. Every time you’re with her, you entertain her, and now that you have, shit, had a girlfriend, she’s realizing that it’s too late.”

The knot that was lodged in his throat earlier was unfurling. Maybe it’ll finally come up, but he’s not sure as what yet.

“I made it clear that I,” the words get gargled in and thrown back out, “had a a girlfriend. And even when I didn’t have one, Xina never gave me exact words-”

“Oh my god, Miguel. She didn’t have to! You’re friendly, you’re considerate, you’re caring, and she’s used that to her advantage. Please, open your eyes.”

It’s not that he didn’t want to hear it. He didn’t want to believe it. He didn’t want to believe that someone he knew for this long would hurt him in this way.

“She was with me every chance she got. In classes or studying or going to the gym or just relaxing.” Purposefully taking his time.

“Out of everyone I introduced her to, she was only weird to my girlfriend.” When she wasn’t the center of his attention.

“She took my phone-”

“Crazy work, by the way. The phone and the weirdness.” Gabriel chimed in.

“-to silence my notifications, to block my girlfriend’s number. And I didn’t realize it, because I trusted her.”

“And that makes a lot more sense,” Gabriel laid down in his bed, face as stern as his mom’s. “Glad we got here. So what are you going to do now?”

He didn’t even mention what Andrew told him, about how he mistook his friend for something more. Is that how others saw them when they were walking around campus too?

Is this how you felt when you saw his phone?

Miguel sat up and hung his legs over the bed, “I want to puke.”

“Hold it in, big boy. This isn’t a marathon.”

“It feels like it.”

Miguel snatched his phone and went to the bathroom, stomach rolling like converse in a dryer.

“You need to find a way to talk to everyone, especially your girl. You need to explain yourself and the situation,” Gabriel’s voice echoed off the tiles. “You’re good at talking, no matter how long it takes you to realize things.”

He chuckled listening to his brother, sliding to floor. The room was hot and saliva was building on his tongue.

“I don’t think she wants to see me.”

“Maybe give it a week? Try the middle of the week if you can’t wait that long.”

He doesn’t know how he can reach you besides showing up outside of your door or your class. Isn’t that creepy?

Maybe he can catch you in the cafe.

“Gabri?”

“Yeah, Mig?”

The noise from his throat enters the air before his words do. All he sees is the white of the toilet and the fuzzy brown of the hamburger bath mat Peter insisted on buying.

“I didn’t think you were serious!” Gabriel shouts over his gagging.

Nothing was even coming up, just bile and the buildup of his feelings since yesterday.

“I’m turning you down,” Miguel can feel Gabriel grimacing without even looking at him. “You’re really lovesick. What are you going to do when you guys get married?”

His stomach lurched again.

“Will I even make it that far?” An image of you at the alter flashed by, and when he lifts the veil, the look on your eyes as you stood in this bathroom is painted on your face.

You might leave him at the alter. Forget the alter, you might not ever look at him again.

He coughed and heaved over the bowl.

“I hope you don’t do this when you actually talk to her, Miguel.”

“Shut. Up.”

In the brightly lit bathroom laid out on the floor is how Peter found him. By this point, Gabriel was practicing his instrument under the guise of calming Miguel down.

He leans over him with his hands on his hips, “Don’t tell me you got into my Twisted Teas without me.”

Gabriel paused his music to let out a sharp laugh.

“No,” Miguel groaned and put an arm over his head.

“He’s been crashing out for the past forty, almost fifty, minutes,” Gabriel says. “But now that you’re here, I’m gonna clock out. Let me know what you decide to do Miguel.”

Peter holds a bag up and smiles, “How does some warm, yummy potato soup sound?”

Miguel bolts up and gags.

“Not a fan favorite, I see.”

By Sunday, he’s able to get up with heavy eyes do some light walking around the park, the autumn sun a nice change of scenery.

He wonders how you’re faring.

A part of him hopes you’re not like him: sick, exhausted, and aimless. Another part of him, as crazy as it is, wishes for you to yearn for him as much as he’s yearning for you, to feel what he’s feeling, to care as much as he does.

He’s seeing you everywhere.

In the leftover box of cookies left on his desk, he thinks about how much time you could have spent on writing the messages.

In the figure of you both showcasing a night where you looked at him an aura of comfort.

In the brown bear keychain on his backpack that mocks him.

In the stickers on water bottle that he picks at while he walks.

In the lockscreen of you that he took of you as you were laid under him. You were in his hoodie, under his blanket, and staring up at him like he was giving you the world.

Perhaps he hit his head somewhere between Friday to today.

His throat is still throbbing from the crying, from running out after you in the chilled night without his keycard, but his head is clearer.

Now, he’s ready to think about how to approach you.

By Tuesday, everything seems to be blurring together. The only thing that has stayed consistent is the gym.

The gym gives him peace in a way that the right corner of his dorm doesn’t. It doesn’t change, only giving to him what he gives to it.

Maybe that’s what happened with you and him. You’re only giving him the pain that he gave to you.

He doesn’t want to go to class, but he can’t afford to not go.

So he drags himself to the computer lab.

Sitting down, he tries to think about what he wants to say, rolling the words over in his head.

“Miguel!”

Irritated is the first feeling that sits within him and the smell of that nutty sweet vanilla wasn’t helping.

“Dude? All of a sudden you don’t answer your phone?”

“You would know a lot about that, huh?”

Xina laughs and shakes the mouse at her computer, “What are you talking about?”

“I don’t have the patience for you to act like everything is ok.”

“I seriously don’t know what you’re talking about. Did you do some extra partying without me?”

“Xina,” Miguel turned to her, eyes tired. She was wearing another bright set today and the words that Gabriel, Tempest, Lyla, and Winston were telling him echoed through his mind. “What was the point of the ‘party’ you threw for me?”

“You’re upset over that? A simple college party?”

“That’s not what that was. You didn’t throw that for me. So please tell me why you’ve gone so far as to push my girlfriend away?”

“What?” Xina’s face switched like a light. “You must be joking.”

“Xina, I know you went in my phone and blocked her number. Why did you that?”

He’s giving her the floor to answer. To tell the truth.

“Of course this is about her. I, I just can’t”

“You-you can’t what, Xina?” the pitch of his words match her, head shaking incredulously.

“I can’t believe one girl is about to ruin an almost two-decade friendship because she can’t stand the fact that you have friends that are also girls.”

“You’re not serious.”

“No, you,” she points a nail at him, “are not serious. This is so fucked.”

“What’s fucked is that you’re avoiding my question, when all signs lead back to you.”

She stares at him, lips tight, “And you’re sure of it.”

“Who else would it be?” he motions to the space around him, “We’ve been tied at the hip this entire semester.”

“So this is seriously happening. Right here. Of all places.”

“You don’t get it, Xina. All of these years, I was the one who defended you. When everyone told me to leave you alone, I stayed by your side because I knew the real you. This,” he moves his hands up and down, “is not you.”

The face that Xina wears sours. For a second, Miguel wonders if, even in this situation, he was still wrong.

“So why aren’t you fighting for me anymore?” she asks, voice barely above a whisper. “Miguel-”

“I’m not going to fight for someone who is willing to hurt me in this way. I’m not fighting for someone who won’t even give me the truth when I’m begging for it.”

She pats at her cheeks, a useless action to stop the tears that start to hit her sweater. Her eyes find Miguel’s and she searches for something, anything, but his face is still.

“Understood.”

Just as quickly as she came in, she left.

Once again, Miguel was left questioning what he did.

divider by: cafekitsune + adornedwithlight + strangergraphics 🩵

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[morningberriesao3]

“Listen, I’ll level with you. Corroded Coffin always sucked—”

“What?!”

“Here me out, man! It’s true! As a band, we’d never make it. Gareth can barely keep time on the drums, I can barely keep time with Gareth, Grant has always just been there to let the good times roll.”

“We didn’t suck,” Eddie insists. Because they could make a song… decent. It was always decent in the end, and the half-a-dozen patrons of The Hideout rarely had issues identifying what songs they were trying to play.

A success, Eddie thinks.

“Okay. Okay, we didn’t suck. For a high school band.” Jeff lowers his voice like he’s telling Eddie some big secret through the phone. “But you—you’re what made it not suck. I can strum a power chord, Eddie, but your solos could have brought in a crowd if the rest of us weren’t dragging you down.”

Eddie shakes his head, realizing after a few seconds that Jeff isn’t actually there to see it. Instead of arguing a case that his friend seems to be stuck on, Eddie just mumbles, “Don’t let Gare here to say that. He’ll flip his lid.”

Jeff snorts into the speaker. “Corroded Coffin will be a total legend one day. When everyone finds out you used to be the front man.”

There’s a thump from the outside hallway of Eddie’s building—probably the shithead neighbour kids trudging up the stairs. Eddie lets his eyes flick to the chain lock, just in case today is the day they decide to rob him blind—of the deli ham in his fridge and the three-day old bread to match it. His milk crate furniture. His pack of half-smoked camels.

“You sure are dishing out the compliments tonight, Jeffy.”

“Yeah. Well. It’s the holidays.” Jeff awkwardly clears his throat. “Don’t get used to it.”

“I’d rather it be a—” Eddie swallows his words whole, jumps about a foot in the air, too, as there’s three heavy knocks on his apartment’s door. He clutches at his heart as Jeff asks what happened. All he can do is mumble out a few curse words, and finally answer in a whisper, “I’m about to get mugged!”

“What?”

“The little shits from next door!” Eddie stands from his sofa, toes across the floor so as to not make it creak. His door doesn’t have a peephole—shouldn’t need one, either, because there’s an intercom that non-robbers would use. “They’re finally here to seal my fate!”

It sounds like Jeff rolls his eyes. “You’ve been too long without a campaign, man. All that psycho is getting bottled up, making you paranoid.”

“Who else would be banging at my door at nine at night on Christmas Eve,” Eddie whispers against the mouthpiece of his phone. The chord doesn’t stretch enough for him to reach the door, so he stands a few feet away, craning his neck like he might be able to peek around it.

Another thump of a fist against wood sends Eddie flying upwards, hackles raised like a spooked cat.

“Did you watch Black Christmas recently?” Jeff asks from the safety of his family home. Lucky bastard.

“Of course I fucking watched—That has nothing to do with this!” Eddie swallows hard. Maybe all the scary movies do affect him more now that he lives alone.

Just a little bit.

“Just answer the door, man. It’s probably some sweet old lady from downstairs who wants to borrow a cup of sugar.”

Eddie scoffs a little too loudly. He hopes he doesn’t clue the intruder—or maybe the axe murderer—in on the other side of the door to his presence. “Do I look like I’m the type of person to have ingredients inside my apartment?”

Jeff cackles lightheartedly as if Eddie’s life isn’t in imminent danger. “Tell her that!”

“I hope you feel bad when they make a documentary about this.” Eddie huffs out a breath, walks back to the phone’s cradle. “At least I’ll die pretty.”

“Hey—call me tomorrow to let me know whether you’ve perished, yeah?”

“If I’ve perished,” Eddie says dryly, “I won’t be able to call you.”

“Then I’ll have my answer.”

There’s another loud bang at the door—louder even than the others. Someone with big hands, then, ready to wring Eddie’s neck.

“Yeah, yeah. Off to my death, I guess.”

“I guess.” Jeff clicks his tongue. “Talk later. Or, you know. Not.”

“Fuck you, man.” Eddie hangs up the phone.

He feels extra alone now, more alone than before his phone conversation. More alone now that there’s someone waiting for him on the other side of some flimsy plywood and a rusted deadbolt.

But there’s a small part of him that’s curious, if not excited, to speak to a real person when he thought his only musings would be muttered in the form of curse words when he fingered a chord wrong or burnt his toast this holiday.

There’s a shadow under the door that shifts to the right, then the left. Then backwards, until it completely pulls away from the shining hallway light. Eddie steps forward like the shadow is a magnet, like it wills his body forward as it moves farther.

“Wait, I—” Eddie calls out to the shadow—to the little old lady who wants a cup of sugar, to the shithead neighbour kids, to the person who’ll make him a little less lonely.

The shadow returns as quickly as it backed away.

Eddie heaves a sigh and gets on with his murder, trudging towards the door. He undoes the chain lock, flicks the deadbolt to the left, unscrews the knob. And he yanks the door open.

He’s met with brown eyes. Brown eyes rimmed in green. Too warm for the chilly winter night.

“H—” Eddie coughs on the word, wrapping his ringed fingers around his own throat as if it might make him speak better. “Harrington? The fuck are you doing here?!”

Amusement flashes in the summer of Steve’s eyes—ones that look even wider with his chin hidden away by a thick navy-blue scarf and a matching winter hat. Little tufts of brown stick out from between them; a hair sandwich breaded by woven wool.

There are no gloves on Steve’s hands—wind-bitten and pink—as they tug down his scarf to reveal a sheepish grin. “What took you so long?”

I have 37K already posted on ao3 for the @steddiebang2024. Click here to keep reading! (18+ Only, Rated E)

From Chapter Three, Where the Love Light Gleams, of A Thousand Flowers Could Bloom

[matrixbearer2024]

Just something I'd like to say about the Stan twins among other things I've seen here on tumblr and everywhere else. Also because I'm genuinely confused why this is even a thing. I don't really see the point in why people have to look at characters and say: good/bad, nuances exist and morality is mostly grey haha.

One of the reasons why I chose to write for Ford isn't really because I don't think he's a bad person, au contraire I know he's done really shitty things but I don't think he's bad. That would be an oversimplification.

If I had to be completely open about it, his situation is actually pretty similar to mine aside from the fact his sibling is a twin. My brother is two years younger than me.

But still, shit happens. Cornered by everyone and everything, one is labeled as gifted and special while the other is seen as stupid and useless, then the split between family and aspiration.

Granted, I've never made a deal with a demonic piece of geometry and I've gone through a different set of circumstances in a completely different time frame– but still. I get where his arrogance comes from and I get how being outcasted can make you prone to doing a lot of shitty things to chase validation.

God forbid someone comes to you and strokes your ego to death, that's the easiest way to manipulate someone with the picture of self-confidence and it's made of glass.

I can't say that what happened to me was a fortunate occurrence, but I was severely humbled at a young age and it's probably why I turned out differently. Ford never really did, he clung onto the idea of being special and being a coveted rarity.

Point is, I can kind of see where he's coming from and a lot of his fights with Stan I also kind of understand. I'm not condoning his actions, especially because I've had legendary fights with my brother before and remembering them all makes me feel like shit because there are things I've done I can never bring myself to forgive– but it's why I can understand why shit unfolded the way it did.

I'm not even going to go into grudges because I've held a grudge over someone for 12 years so I can also get why Ford would end up doing that for fucking 30– but yeah. I don't think either twin is really right or wrong. Stan got dealt a bad hand like my brother, and Ford got shoved into the limelight like me. I can understand the both of them well.

Also to those who wonder why Stan would even forgive Ford, I don't know what else to say other than it might be a sibling thing. I used to fight with my brother simply because he'd excel better in some of the things I do. I'd purposefully work harder to overshadow him and he knew. He would let me succeed and even rub it in his face because he saw that it made me happy.

Even after all this time he doesn't hold it against me so that's something I'm eternally grateful for. But yeah, he cared that much when all I did was be selfish. I still think it depends on some siblings but yeah, for these two they hit close to home just for doing what they do.

Not to mention, my brother's also had his moments where it looks like he's destroyed my things/projects on the sole reason that he thinks it's taking me away from him. That it's taking his best friend away from him.

One of those times was when I was creating a painting for a competition years ago, he got mad I spent so much time on it and accidentally knocked over the water container and it spilled all over my work. The painting was effectively ruined and I blew up at him for it.

Sound familiar?

Where Stan played off his destruction, my brother kept apologizing and owning up to his fuck-up. Where Ford refused to listen, I eventually just compromised with my brother and told him to help me create the new painting.

That painting didn't win any prizes but still ended up being exhibited, I'd show a picture of it with my brother and I next to it if I didn't like keeping my irl family private online.

Ford also being kind of unable to move on/deal with himself is something I do to detriment. It takes a lot to deal with that, much more overcome it.

Things change, time passes, circumstances shift. But yeah, this is just my two cents on it and kind of a window to why I also write Ford and Stan the way I do.

[swifty-fox]

“things you said when you were scared” 😈

prompts that turned into a 4k fic.

this will be available on ao3 once beta read and while it takes place in Little Beasts universe it is NOT canon to the actual timeline. This is just a fun what-if scenario

TW's: Attempted suicide, drug overdose, vomit (lots of it)

It starts out as a gut feeling. Creeping dread squeezing his intestines, licking up his lungs like thick black tar, winding around his spine, tapping the bone with crooked claws. There's much to feel off about, really. Nothing has felt or been quite right since Huglin had opened the door to find his star disciple on his knees to taking communion from the town burnout.

Dazed hours sat listening to Gales low rumble, Huglin's raised shrill reprimanding shock, the blank look on the priests face as he stepped out of the office, shaking his head at John's questions.

He doesn't remember how he convinced Gale to come back with him, maybe because it took shockingly little effort, the other man walking as if his strings had been snipped right near the base. But they're here, in John's room. Or at least he is. Gale had excused himself to the bathroom. To shower and, John suspects, to have a private breakdown in his own company.

Twenty minutes is little requirement for concern.

He'd leant Gale the same Star Wars shirt he'd worn last time, a pair of sweatpants that had a fighting chance of staying on Gale's slim hips. He was lying on his bed and smoking, staring at the cracks in the ceiling and wondering if this would be the mistake that finally stopped poor Frannie's heart, if this would be enough to erase his previous reputation.

Yeah, there goes John Egan, he threw away his whole career over some oxy would likely now become here comes John Egan, the kid who fucked our priest.

It would be new, if not necessarily better. For once, he won't be the one coming out of it the worst. At the very least, this sort of behavior was expected of him if not necessarily accepted. Gale had fallen further, lost more, faced a heavier reckoning.

Gale had lost his job, his home, his self-respect most certainly. 

John smokes, pokes around the corners of himself looking for the itching need to waft up just as it did any time things got hard these days. The need for a fix, for a little kick to his system to get out of his body. A heavy woolen blanket over the jagged edges off his feelings. Something to cushion him as he lay atop the fucking wreckage of his life. Yet again. And it’s there, faint and sly and waiting but mostly he’s tired, mostly he’s worried.

Mostly his gut is clenching with some horrible anticipation like the seconds before a thunderclap.

As a rule, John listens to his gut. He’s got pretty good instincts, they’ve never let him down when he’s chosen to listen. It’s the choosing that’s the hard part. 

But rarely, has his gut been wrong.

John stands, gets his feet under him and pushes up. Pauses for a moment to listen for anything from upstairs but it’s late and Frannie has barely said two words to him. In silence he exits into the hallway, taps his knuckles lightly on the closed bathroom door. The wood is bloated and slightly sticky from steam, he can hear the soft rush of the shower on the other side.

“Gale?” he calls. 

The priest – formerly now – wasn’t beyond ignoring John, he held no illusions. He was good at even, he held out for long enough that John had to work for it, had to needle and run his mouth and bite back the excited wag of his proverbial tail when Gale slid furious blue eyes over to him. But his stomach was twisting and the wood is slick and oily with something like warning. 

“Gale,” he says more firmly, reaches down to twist the unmoving knob. It’s slick too, from the steam escaping under the door, from his own hand gone clammy. 

John’s been here before. Once in this house, years ago. Door knob eye level and much bigger between his fingers, wiggling it and calling for his mama to wake up in the tub. He’s telling himself this isn’t then, this is what they might call an emotional flashback, a simple mistake of association in times of stress. Gale didn’t even smoke anymore even though the good lord had no commandments against tobacco. He’s jiggling the knob, calling Gale’s name a third time.

“‘M fuckin’ serious this time Buck you’re worrying me.” 

He almost calls Gale Father, bites back the title at the last second.

“Gale,” he barks. 

There’s nothing. The mocking fall of water against cheap porcelain. Wood, wet and sticky against his forehead as he presses closer to try to hear anything. 

The door frame splits like butter under his shoulder, hot humid air gags him for a second and he flaps a hand out to turn on the overhead fan despite the little difference it would make.

Sink unoccupied, shower empty. Bathroom mirror open and an orange bottle slipping under John’s feet, nearly upending him. A loose-limbed limp body tucked between tub and toilet, head thrown back in a vulnerable white line and beaded with moisture. Perspiration and the spray of the shower both, it darkens Gale’s hair, the fabric of John’s shirt. Keeps the blood flowing from the teeth marks on Gale’s fingers, chunks of vomit caught between their limp splay. Whatever effort had been made to expunge the drugs from Gale’s body had clearly been unsuccessful as more yellow pills stab John’s bare feet.

He’s making a high thin noise, air escaping his pinhole tight throat like the slow deflation of a balloon. Falling to his knees hard enough they crack audibly against the tile. There’s vomit in the toilet, half digested food and the silty remnants of more pills, drifting with the vibrations of John’s large body hitting the floor. 

“Are you serious?” He asks Gale’s unresponsive form, repeating it over in a thin reedy tone, like a petulant child more than a man witnessing something horrific.

“Are you serious, Gale, are you serious, are you serious, are you serious–”

Gale’s skin is just as damp as the wood door, clammy and sticky and John’s telling himself it’s the shower spray. His lips are blue, the delicate split skin around his cuticles, there’s a strange hitch to his chest every few breaths and John’s tapping his face then shaking it, thumb catching the sharp of his chin to shake. 

Drags his knuckles in vicious circles against Gale’s sternum hard enough to bruise them both, breathing as labored as Gale’s own. There’s a ringing in his ears, high pitched and tinny. 

“Buck,” he barks.

He has no narcan, why the fuck would he have narcan on him anymore, he’s scrambling through his pockets for his phone but the slim shape of it is nowhere to be found. With his free hand he’s still patting Gale’s face, peeling one eyelid back to only find milky white. For a second there’s a hint of iris, a bloom of red blood where vessels had burst either from the opioids ripping through his body or the force of his vomiting. 

“Fuck, fuck fuck fuck–”

John knows this drill. He’s done this more times than he’s caring to remember, pulling Gale out onto the bare floor, head lolling and limbs wet and slippery like broken branches. Gets the other man rolled on his side, shaking his shoulder one last time as if leaving the imprint of his knuckles in the center of his chest somehow couldn’t have been enough.

“Just stay right there sweetheart.”

The endearment slips right out, slickened by fear. 

He used to run entire baseball fields. Now dizzy spots dance in front of his eyes from the mere effort to make the handful of steps between the bathroom and his room, snatching his phone from the nightstand. Fingertips catching on the cracked glass he trips his way back to the hallway, is at Gale’s side before the first ring.

“Nine-one-one what’s your emergency?” 

“My friend’s overdosed,” He gasps, thinks he really should be more calm than this. He should be an old hand at this. He should be calm so he can fucking save Gale’s life but he’s drowning under the crushing panic. Under the sheer fucking guilt.

At what point had Gale looked at John today and decided to take a lesson from the crazy he’d been sticking his dick in.

“Alright sir, are you sure it’s an overdose?” 

“Yeah pretty fuckin’ sure.” 

There’s traces of vomit crusted at the corner of Gale’s mouth, John swipes it away with a trembling thumb.

“Have you tried-”

“I called his name and I shook him and I rubbed his fucking chest I know the goddamn drill lady, I need you to send an ambulance.” 

“I’m going to need you to stay calm, sir.”

Fuck you. “Okay.” 

“Do you know what he’s taken?” 

Fingers scramble for the bottle, sending more pills scattering across the floor. Gale’s a deadweight against him, temple resting on John’s thigh in a sickening boneless weight. His breathing is still that strange stop-and-start pattern that spoke of a body desperately trying to keep functioning. 

John’s still breathing whining and desperate in the back of his throat. 

“Dilaudid,” he says, the script oddly blurry for the first few seconds he tries to read, “The-the eight mil ones, I don’t fuckin’ know how many though. He threw up some of them. Jesus fuck, Gale.”

He’s shouting by the last bit and the dispatcher reminds him again to be calm. He isn’t sure what he says in response but when she asks his address he rattles it off quick and precise.

“Is there anything can do?” he asks, voice rattling through his ribcage with the desperate need to fix this. Stupid naive hope that he knows so far better than because he’s got scars in the shape of Curt’s teeth on his own fingers from saving his fucking life. 

“Can you tell me your name, sir?”

“Bucky.”

“Okay, Bucky, you’re doing just fine. Help is on their way.” 

“I’ve got his head tilted back, his breathing ain’t right.”

“Not your first rodeo, Bucky?”

John swipes at his eyes with his free hand, the skin coming away soaked, “No Ma’am.” 

“Just keep doing what you’re doing, they’re almost there.” 

Steams still billowing around them from the shower, dampening his clothes. He sets the phone to speaker, places it on the tile beside him and makes one more attempt with his fingers against Gale’s stuttering chest. Bends down over him to press his lips then his forehead to his temple. Gale’s sweat prickles his lips, clammy and sour. 

“Come on, Father,” he pleads, “Come on don’t do this to me, Gale. Don’t do this sweetheart.”

Gale’s body moves of its own volition, and for a minute John thinks he’s made some miraculous return to wakefulness but a second noise escapes his throat, thick and gargling and wet. The sour smell of bile rises, slipping liquid past his lips and darkening John’s jeans, puddling across the tile floor. John makes his own noise from deep in his throat, panicked and severe. 

“Can you tell me what’s happening, Bucky?”

“He’s vomiting.”

“Okay, that’s alright,” the dispatcher soothes and John bites his tongue hard enough the taste of copper blooms, I fucking know. “Is his airway clear?” 

Cursing to himself, John slips his fingers past the slick vomit, scissoring between Gale’s molars in a sickening mimicry of a hundred times before, hooking his mouth open and this time when he bends over to look down into the cavern of his mouth it’s not to spit or kiss or tease.

“Yeah, yeah he’s good.” 

“Help should be there, can you hear the sirens Bucky?”

John can, can see red and blue lights tracking across the open door to the hallway. His hands shake as he picks up the phone, taking it off speaker. It reeks of bile just like the rest of the room, wet against his fingertips but his mind is going soft and fuzzy, calm acceptance slipping over like a wool cover.

“I hear them,” he says, “The cops will probably already know, but can you please tell them I’m a felon on parole for drug charges. I don’t have any weapons on me and will cooperate fully.”  

He hears the fuzz of the phone connection, the sirens loud and piercing outside, the quiet tapping of a keyboard.

“I’ve let them know.”

John exhales shakily.

“I’m going to hang up now, Bucky.” 

“Thank you Ma’am,” he says, the words caught in his throat. 

There’s a knock at the door and he sets the black screen of the phone facedown somewhere dry and rolls Gale back into recovery. The ringing is back in his ears when he stands but he sprints with surprising calm to the door. He directs the EMT’s down the hall, fights the urge to follow them because there’s already little room in the bathroom. When he sits at the kitchen table, clothes damp and stained with the contents of Gale’s stomach, it’s at an angle where he can see the responders crowding into the bathroom, running back for a stretcher. 

“You got the naloxone on you?” 

“Holy fuck that’s Father Cleven.” 

John presses his hands to his face. 

-*~*-

Johns wrists ache. He’s exhausted and sore and Gales vomit has dried to an uncomfortable crust on his clothes. It was late enough he wouldn’t hear news of bail until morning when the judges’s office opened. Chick had told him as much, shuffling up to the cell window dressed in a pair of loose jeans and a faded football sweatshirt looking exactly like a man who’d been pulled out of bed at two am. 

“Have you heard anything?” John asks, leaning tiredly against the glass.

“What the hell are we doing here, John? You been fucking your priest?”

“He’s not mine,” John says, closing his eyes, “It wasn’t your business.” 

Chicks finger jabs against the glass, voice low and rumbling, “It sure fucking is if your giving him fucking opiates. Did Brady know this?”

John blinks at him, going cold, “I didn’t give him shit Neil. He took Frannie’s stuff I wouldn’t– I’m clean.” 

“Does Brady. Know.”

“Yeah – fuck – he fuckin’ knew. He knew I was messing around with him because that’s all that happened. Neil, I have my two-year chip. I was almost done with this whole thing in six more months why would I fuck that up?” 

Chick just stares at him, and John stares back, feeling every thread holding him up slowly be snipped one by one. It was one thing to have the police assume the worst, and it wasn’t quite like looked anything but really fucking bad. But Chick had been the one to see every step of the fought for progress John has made. He knew, knew the work John had put in. 

“This is why it’s a fucking bad idea to have a sober coach be someone who you’re friends with, I never should have signed off on that, I should have known he wouldn’t be able to be objective–”

“‘M fuckin’ sober!” John shouts, slamming his knuckles against the wall and then closes his eyes with a slow inhale.

“I’m sober,” his voice cracks, “He was staying with me after we got caught and left to take a shower. I got a bad fucking feeling and busted open the door to find him passed out next to the toilet.”

He’s talking slowly as he can, calm as he can manage because he knows rage will get him exactly squat. 

“I saw he’d taken a buncha’ pills and I called the EMT’s.”

“The only person who can corroborate it is in the hospital right now unconcious. My hands are tied until he wakes up.” 

John squeezes his brows together, twists his mouth against the sharp flicker of fear and then looks back up at Chick, “You believe me though, right?”

Chick kisses his teeth, hands settling on his hips. There’s a purpling bite mark above his sweatshirt collar and John wonders who he’d been pulled out of bed with.

“I’ll see about getting those cuffs off you, John.”

“Fuck the cuffs,” he rasps, “Just promise you’ll tell me how Gale is the moment you hear anything.”

He’s never wanted pity, not once in his life and not even in his worst moments. He bares his teeth at the emotion baldly present in Chick’s eyes.

“Depends how the cards fall, kid.”

-*~*-

Sleep eludes John the entire night, even if he had the desire to attempt the cell too uncomfortable, the lights too bright, the image of Gale fighting for every inhale a constant itch under his skin. He sits and he paces and he runs his fingers through his hair until its stuck up wildly all over his head. Chick had indeed managed to get the cuffs off, and faint red marks are fading to bruises under his hoodie. 

The call had come for him somewhere around nine am. Gale had woken up. 

Had, in his own dazed way, corroborated John’s account of events.

“There’s still a chance, if the district attorneys want to be an asshole, they’ll try to come after you for having the pills in residence at all,” Chick says as he drives, “It probably wouldn’t stick, your grandma has the prescriptions and we knew they would be there when we signed off on you going home to her. But,” he trails off with a shrug. 

John works his jaw, staring out the window and fiddling with his phone. Someone had cleaned it off, the screen iridescent with dried cleaner, and there’s a slew of texts from Brady he can’t begin to be bothered to open. He doesn’t know what to say to Chick, still lost in the sting of his distrust. 

“I still gotta test you,” Chick sighs.

“Whatever,” John says dryly.

“It’s coming from above my head, John.”

“I get it.” 

-*~*-

He hates hospitals. Hates them with a creeping crawling sensation borne of visits both personal and for others. Weeks languishing in a hospital bed with pins in his knee, relearning how to walk and trust his body to carry his weight, muscles wasted and surgery scars cross-crossing his kneecap in ugly slashes.

Complaints of pain that became more fictitious as time went on, eyeing the doctor's prescription booklet with subtle hunger.

Visiting his mother, rail-thin and wasted away. Swearing to himself he’d never end up in those shoes.

He doesn’t like hospitals. He especially loathes them now, running on twenty-four hours of no sleep and in clothes he’s borrowed from his parole officer because if he spent one more second covered in vomit he might have really lost it. The smell of cleaner and faint piss makes his head hurt as he follows a quiet nurse down the hallway. Her crocs squeak on the linoleum.

“He’s pretty exhausted but he’s awake,” She says, stopping at room 418. The door is closed, curtain drawn and John twists his phone between his hands, staring as if he might see right through the wood.

“Thank you,” He says hoarsely.

She allows him into the room himself, which feels almost a novel level of trust after the fifteen hours and his hands a clammy as he shuts the door behind him, slipping on the cheap brass knob. Gale looks tiny in the hospital bed, like he’s dropped ten pounds overnight, hollow around the eyes and cheeks. There’s black staining at the corners of his lips.

“Gave you the old charcoal diet, huh?” John asks, settling into the chair against the wall and regarding Gale. 

The priest looks at him with quiet guilt propped up by bone-deep exhaustion. He looks utterly lost, and John resists the urge to reach out to him. There’s still vomit under his nails. His wrists are still bruised from the cuffs. He almost lost his freedom over someone else's stupid decisions again. 

“John–” Gale rasps, his voice a ruin.

“I’m going to talk,” John interrupts, “You’re going to listen.”

Gale’s mouth shuts with a click, his face crumpling into abject misery.

“Do you understand,” he continues slowly, understanding for the first time the depths of his betrayal and anger now that he knows Gale wasn’t about to be relegated to a hole in the ground, “What you risked?” 

He jabs a finger in Gale’s direction, a furious mimicry of Chick’s anger the night before.

“Do you understand if you had fucking died I would have been looking at twenty years? If not more because I am on fucking parole and you decided to pull that shit in my home!” His voice is raised enough he knows it’ll draw attention. He pauses and takes another breath, swipes a trembling hand through his curls.

Gale makes another quiet noise. 

“You put my life at risk,” John turns the finger back on himself, and his voice cracks as he continues, “I worked so hard Gale. ‘M not perfect but I worked too fucking hard to get where I am and you spit in my face. You used me. You betrayed my fucking trust you stole from my grandmother you tried to kill yourself on my bathroom floor.” 

They’re both crying, Gale’s bloodshot eye so red it’s shocking that the tears aren’t tinged the same hue. John’s fighting to keep his breathing under control. 

“I’ve seen my mom and my best friend and so many other people like that and I never thought it would be you, Buck.” 

“It was stupid,” Gale murmurs, “It was selfish. I wasn’t thinkin’ John I swear I wasn’t trying to hurt you. I tried–”

“I know what you tried,” John snap, “I got powdered pills and puke all over my fucking clothes with what you tried.” 

Gale presses a hand to his face, covering one half of it and squeezing the rest of it into a tight expression. The IV in his arm whispers softly against the sheets with the movement. 

“Are you in trouble?”

“We’re waiting to find out. Chick thinks I should be okay though, since you didn’t go and die.” 

John bounces his foot, glances over at the window and then at the TV that was playing MASH on mute. Gale stares at his hands, picking at the cuticles and radiating regret. His shoulders curve forward, birdlike and protective.

“How are you feeling?” John asks quietly.

Gale huffs a laugh, “Like shit.”

Despite himself, Gale cursing was always gave John a flicker of smug delight. A hint of humanity underneath all the pretense. 

“Yeah, I know.”

Gale picks at his fingers, quiet and tired and John cant help himself but wipe at one of the smears of black. He knows it’s in Gale’s teeth, gritty and sour. Coating the back of his throat in a slimy residue. He knows. 

“They’re just waiting on a bed to open up in their inpatient unit,” Gale admits softly, brows drawing together with shame.

John nods, stands and drags the chair until it’s in line with the bed, kicks his feet up on the sheets because it makes Gale smile faintly and lays his palm out flat beside Gale’s hip, fingers curled loosely. 

“They got volume on this piece of ancient technology?” John asks, “This is a good season. Bet we could get through all of it before they come whisk you away.”

Gale watches him for long minutes, face cycling through a myriad of emotions. Disbelief, annoyance, shock, self-loathing. Quiet, desperately sad affection. His fingers, still too chilled and clammy, slide tentatively between John’s own. Not quite gripping but resting there as if, despite the offer, unsure of their welcome. John does the rest for him, twisting them together and fishing the remote from the nightstand.

[aihoshiino]

chapter 161 thoughts

Chapters Since The 143 Kiss Happened And Went Entirely Unacknowledged And Unaddressed Count: 18

Aqua Hoshigan Status: For the future

Never has an OnK chapter gone from It's Hoshinover to We Are Oshi no Back quite as hard and fast as this one. I have issues with this chapter in terms of what it implies about the story's overall structure and the fact that it sort of ruins 153-4 by association but this chapter's back half is so fucking good and the chapter itself works so well in isolation that much like 153-4, I kind of uhhh don't care about the structural issues because the story's heart is, for the most part, not just intact but beating harder and more passionately than it has in a long time.

To get what I don't like out of the way, the story seems to have settled on Super Evil Serial Killer Mastermind Kamiki as his final form characterization with some helpful Tsukuyomi exposition to just straightforwardly Tell Us things the manga probably should have spent some of the last 70something chapters Showing Us about Hikaru. The basic idea of Hikaru being some sort of serial killer so dedicated to upholding Ai's legacy that he kills women with the potential to surpass her was more or less always where I expected his character to land and this settling of his character does at least preserve what I think is the most important thing: that he genuinely loved Ai and his bent towards villainy only came after her death.

What I don't love as much is that this chapter seems to continue leaning into Uber God Manipulator Mastermind Kamiki like last chapter. I already talked at length about my issues with this framing in my previous chapter review so all I'll reiterate here is that the story's attempt to frame Hikaru as being equally or even more culpable for the actions of Nino and Ryosuke fall entirely flat to me, especially when the manga itself does such a pisspoor job of actually explaining how or why Kamiki was able to control and/or predict their actions to the extent that he supposedly did. And ESPECIALLY especially given that Nino and Ryosuke seem to have already been dangerously obsessed with Ai by the time they approached him.

In general, Hikaru's character is honestly just so inconsistent at this point that making any sense of his actions feels fruitless. If I really dig into what's going on, I can infer that maybe he fell into the same trap as Aqua by overcompensating for his trauma-induced helplessness by becoming overly controlling and guess that his fucked up trauma response to Ai's death combined with those terrible words Kindaichi gave him at Airi's funeral lead him down he road he's traveling now. I can even extrapolate that Aqua showing him the DVD message in 153-4 pushed Hikaru to this extreme and now that he has nothing to lose, he's lashing out at his children too - though, it should be noted, that the manga still hasn't actually established what Hikaru's culpability is in Nino's attempt on Ruby's life, outside of Aqua saying "well you didn't use your psychic powers to perfectly predict nino's actions so it's on you".

But like - this is all stuff I'm having to infer and extrapolate and guess, reverse engineering logic from our end point in an attempt to create a stable foundation for this characterization. The manga has done such a poor job of properly establishing Hikaru both as an antagonistic force and as a consistent character that I feel like I'm trying to assemble a coherent image from two different puzzle sets with all the fucking corner pieces missing and that's with Crow Girl looking into the camera and Explaining Him to me.

And listen, I am a bitch who LOVES to infer things. One of my absolute favourite pieces of fiction of all time ever is Umineko no Naku Koro Ni, a mystery story that literally does not contain any straightforwardly explicit, textual confirmation of the culprit's identity or motives because it believes so strongly that you, the reader, are smart enough and empathetic enough to put in the time and effort necessary to understand it regardless and it deeply, deeply values being able to give you that experience. But OnK feels less like it's intentionally encouraging me to think hard and enjoy the process of putting my head and my heart to work - it feels like it's leaving its homework unfinished and letting the reader do the actual hard work of sewing up the internal logic.

I probably won't talk much more about Kamiki this chapter cos I'd just be saying all this shit over and over but I really just am struggling to understand from a perspective of authorial intent what the vibe is even supposed to be. Like I mentioned in a previous ask, if this is where Kamiki's arc is reaching its conclusion then it means that the Movie Arc was essentially a whole-ass waste of time in and out of universe. Blech. Hate that.

Also, before I move on, I don't want to leave this just implied - making Kamiki explicitly a CSA victim and then ending his arc on Aqua (and implicitly the narrative) dismissing him as being too broken/corrupted to be saved is a really major misstep that I think represents a huge black mark on OnK's handling of CSA as a topic. The idea of an eternal defilement or an unfixable core wrongness in the self is already something real life CSA victims struggle with in the process of unpacking their trauma and having our likable and supposedly morally superior protagonist espouse this unchallenged in a work as prominent and relevant as Oshi no Ko is irresponsible bordering on dangerous. It's incredibly disappointing that after all the care Aka and Mengo seemingly took in handling this topic that it was whiffed so badly at the last second.

ANYWAY!!! Now all the beef's been dealt with, we can cleanse our palettes and move onto everything else I liked which was… basically everything else in this chapter!

Admittedly, Aqua's overall arc is still suffering from us being kicked out of his head from like 123 onwards for no real apparent reason and while 150 was a welcome refresher on where he's at in this part of the story, it still feels a bit like the story is prioritizing preserving the surprise factor of its twists over making these surprises feel earned. Compare it to volume 1 - you are basically told exactly what is going to happen to Ai, especially in the manga when Saitou and Gotanda outright say as much - but her death is still incredibly impactful and upsetting. I think this chapter is very effective, but could've been a lot moreso if we'd spent more time in Aqua's head leading up to it.

THAT SAID… If the intention of keeping us out of his head was to recontextualize Aqua's behaviour across the past ten or so chapters in this new light, I don't hate it as much as I might have. I initially took issue with what felt like the story off-screening and not addressing the resolution to Aqua's suicidal ideation so whipping back around to prove that it was still very much present puts some particular Aqua moments over this past volume into a very different light. As some people pointed out, Aqua missing Kana's pitch - literally dropping the ball in responding to her feelings - and his wide-eyed look of alarm in 151 seemed very ominous omens for the success of her confession and that beat of him covering his face when Kana approves of his dream… very incheresting knowing Aqua was still struggling with 'love or revenge' at this point.

Most interesting of all to reconsider is Aqua breaking down in tears in Miyako's arms in 155 when she addresses him as her son for the first time. At the time it read like catharsis but now I can't help but wonder if this was Aqua grieving for something he desperately wants but thinks is out of his reach.

i do have to say though. i get the general vibe of this plan and think it works fine as the apex of aqua's self-sacrificial protectiveness for the people he loves but how is being the daughter of a serial killer somehow any less scandalous for her career than being the sister of someone who killed one dude. does aqua think they just won't notice that kamiki happens to be their biodad or something. wasn't that the whole point of the movie. goofy ass plan.

What really saves this whole scenario is the emotions at play, though. This really does feel like Aqua at his most Aqua in a really long while and this chapter has so much love and respect for his life as Aqua and the bonds he has formed as a result. The dreams Aqua lays out are so agonizingly simple, too - he wants to pursue the career he finds rewarding. He wants to date the girl he likes. He wants to accept Miyako as his mom and Himekawa as his brother and to make things right with Akane after hurting and using her. He wants to see Ruby achieve her dream and be there to support her when she does.

But Aqua's always considered his dreams impossible, hasn't he?

I fully admit; I got spoiled with the full page spread of Aqua stabbing himself way in advance of the chapter and initially hated it as a twist. But with the full chapter as context and the sheer weight of Aqua's longing to just fucking live and find joy, it's not just effective but absolutely gutwrenching. It is the synthesis of Aqua's series-long battle to choose love or revenge and it resonates perfectly because it has never been one or the other for him - Aqua's revenge has always been rooted in the fact that he loves others so wholly and completely and hates himself so utterly that he thinks sacrificing himself to preserve their futures is the only path for him to take. It's the culmination and final release of the suicidal ideation Aqua has been dealing with since he was four years old and like Ai's tragedy before him, there's a horrible sense that maybe there really was no other way this could've gone.

Aqua being the character who actually takes the knife also firmly cements him as Ai's narrative echo in the text which has me barkin and howlin because it's what I've been saying all this time. Not just that, but so many of Aqua's expressions in this chapter pointedly and deliberately echo Ai's after she was stabbed. Not just that, but Aqua's achingly simple dreams echo Ai's own heartrendingly simple regrets - all the two of them ever wanted was to be happy with the people they love.

This also reframes the story's prior establishment of Ruby as paralleling Ai and seems to place the twins in the position of echoing not Ai in her entirety but Ruby as 'Ai of B-Komachi' and Aqua as 'Ai Hoshino'. This was actually something I outlined in one of my very first meta posts on the series, but I think making it more specific to 'Ruby as Ai the idol' and 'Aqua as Ai the human', this actually gives Ruby's arc in relation to Ai a bit of breathing room. Don't get me wrong, everything I've said about her post-BH writing being underbaked and inconsistent is still the case, especially when it comes to how confused the story is on whether Ruby is her own idol or New And Improved Ai 2.0 but giving it less ground to cover helps in terms of her writing no longer being spread quite as thin.

Speaking of Ruby, that beat of her seeming to react or sense something is up the moment Aqua takes the stab. 'Something happened to my loved one far away and I just Feel It' is a trope I'm always a sucker for and I really dig it here.

"The public don't care about the truth, so let's tell them a lie" is such a crazy hard sentiment to go out on too. Holy fuck.

There go our boys…!!! Quite a few people predicted they might go over the edge when Aqua showed up in his Mephisto fit (Mefitsto) and I'm interested to see if we get any parallels to the ED's imagery in the next few chapters. Overall, though, I'm really excited for where things are going - I don't think Aqua will die, but I do have some theories about what might happen. I can't think of a more traditional misogi purification experience than the middle of the ocean in late December, after all…

No break next week! Woohoo! While the delay of episode 12 means we won't be getting them on the same day, that is the same week S2 of the anime will be concluding and Aka does like lining up his bombshells with the anime. So who knows what we'll see.

seriously tho aqua. everyone already knows kamiki is you and ruby's biodad. HOW IS THIS ANY BETTER THAN HER BEING THE DAUGHTER OF A SERIAL KILLER AS IT ALREADY STANDS

[cdroloisms]

what's the one moment that was hinted at about the prison arc that you wished we had seen? - loyal

i am a simple simple cat literally any conversation of just sam + dream from any of the three following time periods:

early prison, anywhere between bad's visit and tommy's first visit. sam and dream both behave ... honestly peak strangely at this point in time and we don't get any definitive answers on what the fuck was going on behind the scenes, because after quackity got involved a lot of the focus recentered on quackity's visits. this is before they've really settled on who they'll be at the end and when the feeling of betrayal on both sides is definitely the freshest. thinking about Dream tried to swim in lava, thinking about the little games they played around the clock and the strange mix of fear and familiarity, thinking about how confident Sam had to be, to let Tommy in (I thought I had broken the will out of him...to do something like that) thinking about what the fuck happened at the end of Sapnap's visit. Awesam seems pretty upset with me, so… and Listen- Listen I can’t. I can’t. I can’t. Because I know- I have to let you out of there. Because otherwise, Sam would cut off my visitors, he’ll feed me less, he’ll do those things…, and but, vice-versa the only person that Dream sees, 99% of the time, is Sam. And so Dream would become more and more willing to speak to Sam about different things that he probably wouldn’t have before as time goes by", and. AND.

after one of quackity's visits. kind of the one i want to see the least on the list, tbh, but as much as we've talked about the intersections of quackity and sam's roles in the prison and how sam and dream may have felt Some Kind Of Way about it, it would've been neat to see more of this in canon. we get a little bit of post-torture in the september stream, but you know. and well, the reliance, right. sam as the one talking to him after quackity visits, as the one trying to convince him to give up the book, the one promising relief ...

the time period after techno escapes. much like the first, where we don't actually see anything, only this time instead of a lot of things being hinted at that remain firmly behind closed doors, this time period is a total black box. we don't have ... anything, really, to go off of. techno is gone. so is quackity. it's just sam and dream in a box -- no visitors, no one to even know that he's alive. sam saved his life, sam might be all he has left. that awful mix of terror and gratitude, the glass ... the guards are there, at least, but dream doesn't talk to them (...the silence strike in sapnap's stream, and how sam reacts when he breaks it. the familiar question, did he say anything, and how we still don't know why dream was quiet in the first place, in either case.) sam intervenes and brings the food in, sometimes. there's so much of each other that only they have seen--it's no longer week one, week two of the prison. they are familiar to each other in ways that they perhaps arent anymore, to anyone else.

[otomehonyaku]

DIABOLIK LOVERS More, More Blood Vol. 12 Ruki ☽ Animate Tokuten CD ☽ Living A Normal School Life For Once!

Original title: たまにはまともに学園生活！ Voiced by Sakurai Takahiro English translation by @otomehonyaku Click here for the audio (kindly provided by @karleksmumskladdkaka!)

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

One very unhinged tokuten... I appreciate Ruki's persistence when it comes to defending us/Yui, but he's definitely taking it too far dkfjdkfd ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و ♡ Have fun listening and reading along!

Please do not reuse or post my translations elsewhere or translate my work into other languages without my permission.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

[The scene starts at the academy. Ruki finds you after class.]

00:00 Hey. What are you doing?

[He startles you and you accidentally drop the papers you were holding.]

You turned around so frantically that you dropped your things.

[Ruki bends down to gather the papers you dropped.]

‘Off-campus learning guidebook’?  I see. These are the prints that’ll be bound into the actual guidebooks. I suppose I don’t even have to ask you why you’re carrying them.  You’re letting the teachers order you around again. Have you forgotten how to say ‘no’? Those kinds of people will never make you see the end of it if you don’t. Anyway, let’s bring these to the teacher’s office. Then your job will be over, right? Oh? What’s the matter?

[You tell him that you still have to bind the books.]

Why did you let it come that far? You’re going to do the bookbinding? If you have to make them for all the students, it’ll take an absurd amount of time. Those fucking tyrannical teachers, setting students to work like slaves for their own benefit… You’re my possession more than anything. I don’t like anyone else doing as they please with you. It seems that I’ll have to teach them a lesson.

[You get a little nervous and try to talk him out of it.]

Heh. It shouldn’t be anything beyond your comprehension. You’re so used to doing their dirty work that you’re still trying to cover for them, and I don’t like it. Hey. We’re going to finish this within the hour.

[You tilt your head to the side.]

I’m telling you that I’ll help you. This isn’t something you should be wasting your time on. If any other requests come in after this, I’ll be right behind you to crush their hopes before they even get to talk to you. This is what we’re going to do, so let’s get to work quickly. At this hour, there should be plenty of empty classrooms available. We’ll bind these guidebooks in the blink of an eye.

[The scene shifts to an empty classroom.]

02:30 Alright. Let’s take care of this as quickly as we can. Each book has 16 pages… Let’s fold the papers and staple them. That should be easy enough. When doing it for all students, though, it’s pretty hard work. Efficiency is key when binding books.  Let’s try it out on a small scale first. We don’t have time to redo everything if we mess it up. Start with the front cover and line up the prints in order.

[You get to work.]

Off-campus learning is a waste of time, though. It’s foolish to think there are things to learn outside of the classroom. Unless you’re actively trying to gain something, there’s no way you can learn anything. For example, let’s say we’re taking a field trip to a museum. Museums have many precious artefacts on display. However, whether it be ancient Greek sculptures, coffins of saints—to a fool, they’re all weight stones (1). Yeah. They have no value just standing there. You’re going through all that trouble to bring all the students there only to look at a room full of weight stones. Don’t you think that’s funny?

04:01 Or, wait—weight stones do have value.  You can press vegetables with them to make pickles, so they’re actually quite helpful. Going to an exhibition on weight stones might be a meaningful way to spend time after all.

[You doubt that.]

What’s with that expression?  The flavour of the end product varies depending on the weight of the stone. That’s not something to make light of. If we actually were to go on an exhibition on weight stones for our off-campus learning, I’d appreciate it.

[You wonder if an exhibition like that even exists.]

You have a good point. We might as well go to a hardware store. That’s just a shopping trip. If we’re going shopping, I’d rather it be just you and me. I refuse to go around in such large groups.

[You’ve both made some progress with the bookbinding at this point.]

Where are we going, anyway? There should be information about the destination somewhere on one of these pages… Is this it? So we’re going to a nearby mountain. To think the school wll go to such lengths to get the students off campus… Hiking, learning about the beauty of nature… You’ve got to be kidding me. Besides, the true beauty of nature can’t be found at the foot of a mountain like this. Lend me your pen. I’ll change the route.

[You stare at Ruki for a moment.]

Didn’t you hear me? Give me your pen. I’ll shatter the hopes of whoever thinks they can challenge a mountain when they’re only in the mood for a stroll.

[Ruki starts drawing on the map.]

Let’s make them climb the steep slope on the other side of the mountain. The landscape varies a lot around this area. People will start falling behind because they lose motivation. This should do the trick. Surely, the harshness of mountain climbing will sink deeply into their minds. Don’t you think it’s a good route?

[You tell him that sounds dangerous.]

06:01 Of course it’s dangerous. It’s mountain climbing. There’s no way you can reach a summit without putting your life on the line.

[You’re at a loss for words.]

Does that surprise you? Did you think it would suffice to go on a trip to a mountain without admiring the scenery from the summit? If this off-campus learning is intended to teach students about the beauty of nature, there’s no better way to do it than to climb a mountain to its very top. Which means you also need the appropriate gear.

[Ruki leafs through the booklet until he finds the list of supplies that’s already there.]

A lunch box, a water bottle, a towel… You can’t be serious. Don’t ever think you can survive on a mountain with these things.

[Ruki grabs his pen and gets to work again.]

I crossed out all the things you don’t need. I’ll make a list of the things you do need for mountain climbing. Even in case of a disaster, this should heighten your chances of survival.

[You still don’t really know what to say.]

What are you acting so surprised for? There’s always a chance of a disaster happening. Listen. If you value your life, don’t take mountain climbing lightly. Bear in mind that we’re talking about off-campus learning. Ah, right. I’ll also write down some important points to take into account in case of an emergency.

[Ruki looks at the points that were already listed in the booklet.]

Hm? ‘Watch out for the snakes’? What’s with this warning paragraph? ‘Snakes are aggressive creatures, so they attack easily’? This is nonsense. Listen up. You should get this through your head as well. First of all, there are many different kinds of snakes, of course. I’m not saying it’s true one hundred percent of the time, but snakes tend to be timid, docile creatures. They will not attack humans unprovoked. If you see one between the grass, it’s best to quietly avoid it. Of course, venomous and aggressive snakes do exist. It goes without saying that you should never let your guard down. Got it?

[You tell him you understand.]

08:11 That’s the answer I was looking for. Good, even for you. Still, this off-campus learning is intended to deepen the students’ knowledge, but this booklet doesn’t give me much hope… Planting misinformation is evil in itself, don’t you think? Well, alright. I won’t be holding back anymore. I’ll thoroughly rewrite this page as well. A bit on the ecology of snakes and the varieties that may live on the mountain… Ah, I’ll also include some fun facts about snakes. You’ve heard much about the snake in the Garden of Eden, right? Wait, but if I were to write about that, I’d have to touch upon the story of Adam and Eve and the forbidden apple as well… And while we’re on the subject of apples, anyway, I might as well add some simple and delicious recipes. It’s witty and it makes for worthwhile reading, right? I’ll stick to recipes for two servings.

[You think Ruki is taking it too far. You try to stop him.]

Hey, don’t grab my arm! You’ll mess up my writing.

[You tell him you’ll never finish it in time.]

Heh. That’s all? That’s no problem. I planned on finishing binding the booklets well within the hour, with time to spare. But look at how awful the content is! That certainly changes things. I will revise this entire off-campus learning guidebook and confront the teacher with it. Like, “This is what true learning is!”

[You yell at him to stop.]

Don’t yell! Setting up plans like these is my forte. Come to think of it, the destination wasn’t appropriate to begin with. There’s nothing interesting about a mountain a few train stops away. Maybe at least one train transfer and a few hours away by car… Somewhere off the beaten path. Although I’d rather pick a woodland area for fostering one’s survival instincts… That means it should definitely take place somewhere around here… Yes. I’ll also add a recipe using the local specialties of this area. 

[Ruki puts down his pen.]

10:36 Alright! Perfect. I think I did pretty well. I chose a place of which the chances of survival are at least ten percent. If you approach it like it’s the last thing you’ll ever do, you can probably make it out alive if you’re lucky. There are no drawbacks to such experiences. Or rather, someone must teach today’s carefree youth what it’s like to walk the line between life and death. To spend your days in the mud. Well, then! Let’s go to the teachers’ office. We’re going to present this. This is revenge for the work they’ve made you do on these prints.

[Ruki starts gathering the booklets.]

Let’s teach those foolish humans the true meaning of off-campus learning!

[You’ve had enough of his antics. You grab onto him and try to keep him from leaving.]

Hey! Don’t hold me back. Come on, don’t pull at me like that! If you don’t watch out, I’ll drop all the—Ah!

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

漬物（つけもの）の石（いし）: A weight stone used to press the moisture out of pickles (tsukemono) in Japan. I was going to go with a paperweight analogy instead, as this made a bit more sense for non-Japanese audiences while still making sense for Ruki’s character, but it was a bit difficult to line that up with his explanation...

[yuurivoice]

I've always felt like a spanking centered audio could be good for Alphonse, with listener either giving or receiving said spankings. Since you mentioned a Bully Alphonse though...

Depending on how much/what type of a bully you're thinking of, him bullying listener for getting off on getting spanked could fit nicely.

You're cooking here Anon......

Unrelated but also, super related, I'm looking into licensing a pretty comprehensive collection of NSFW SFX, which actually includes a whole folder for spanks.

The sad truth is, the reason there has been minimal SFX in the spicy stuff is because it's such a hassle to get to sound good if you're recording fresh stuff every time around. It recently occurred to me that I could simply.........stop struggling.

Spanking would probably be a top 3 occurrence in my content if I didn't have to worry about the sounds. So, needless to say, that might be a thing!

As for what kind of bully Alphonse might be, I think the best way for me to wrap my head around it is perhaps using one of my least favorite tropes ever......miscommunication! I like the idea that Alphonse is a real prick because of something the listener did, but they don't know wtf he's talking about and assume he's just an asshole. So it never comes up. Turns out, some OTHER kind of asshole bully is responsible for making it seem like listener did whatever they supposedly did to Alphonse. We resolve the arc with Alphonse being protective and friendly...but along the way he discovers that the listener has a crush, and lowkey......likes the bullying.

Voila. Simple. Clean. Doesn't involve actually abusing anyone in the most toxic ways imaginable and has a resolution that makes me not feel gross!

In the same way I work with Yandere stuff, I don't ever feel quite right just leaving it at "they're really fucked up and it's fucked up and that's all folks!" even though I don't think there's anything wrong with that. It's a comfort thing for me, and also just understanding how people conflate oneshots/au stuff with canon, it doesn't hurt to use some additional restraint in case someone gets emotional whiplash.

We didn't get a lot of time with Alphonse in his abrasive prick era, so writing him in that way would be a lot of fun for me.

[waterb0ttlebitch]

Ok so this is a creepy story and I would like to talk about it here. So I don't forget it.

So I live near this forest. Like it's really close by and the only thing between the humans on this side and the things and trees on the other side is this old ass fence, it's not even that good of a fence it's literally just like a metal fence you can cut it easily and like you can dig under it. It's not that strong. I've seen like a gap between the ground and the fence under which a whole adult human could fit and shit.

So Im kinda heavy and I wanna reduce weight so I decide it's a good idea to walk around d yes,so I go on grab my ear buds and my phone. And I'm a paranoid as fuck person so I grab my knife and like have it in my sweater pocket and and ready to flip out and shit and there's also a dog problem in my area so everyone going walking does so in groups or they just carry a stick with them.

So I grab my stuck, and have my earbuds in listening to music, today tada da what ever and I start walking.

Mind you I'm walking on the road RIGHT NEXT to the forest

I stamp on a snail and I'm sorry so I say sorry to it. And not even 5 secs later I walk and there's this dog barking and me being scared even tho I have a stick, I turn around and the dog starts following me but it's following weirdly so I slowly down and it goes ahead of me so I'm like ok and I turn around and walk the way I was originally walking and I do so for like 5 mins I reach the end of the road thing.

And like I already did not have my ear buds in so no music shit and my phones in my pocket and ready to call someone if needed. Mind you I'm already a paranoid person and I am walking alone and it's barely bright like around 6 in the morning.

Here's where it gets creepy.

Throughout the whole walk there are almost no birds chirping.

Like I had come here 3 days in a row.this was the 4th day. And there's always bids chirping, I just brushed it off.

Me being the dumb bitch I am made some bird noises (more like whistles) and I got a thought in my head.if human can mimic bird noises what if there's something out there that can mimic human noises?

Wheni get to the end of the trail I get this chill run down my back. I kid you not this was hone chilling and I'm a very aware person. I have desent reflexes so I start swing my stick quiet violently to make myself calm and my knife is ready to stab if neaded.

I had to walk alllll the way home with this fucking chilling feeling. It was fucking horrifying.

I get home and I forgot about it cuz my mom m makes fucking delicious food and it's dinner time and I tell my mom this.

I shit you not, her next words made me want to puke.

The forest has another side where there runs this highway where people go around and this highway was apparently rek own to druggists as they would just escape into the forest if they felt threatened.

The next morning me and ma went to the other side to like have a fun ride and shit. There was a truck just sitting there with no one inside it and it has apparently crashed into the rails of the other side of the forest by the looks of it. And the trail from that side lead straight to my side of the forest. Mind you this is like a HUGE forest.

Makes me wonder if that chilling feeling was mentioned actually being stalked by someone who was an escaped druginst.

[dollypopup]

I can't stop thinking about Colin on his travels. Colin, alone, on a journey to 17 different cities, across several countries. Colin on his own.

Colin who writes letter after letter, to his family, to his friends, and barely gets a response back. How long before he understands that they didn't get lost in the mail? How long until he realizes that, just like when he was a boy, no one has the time for him? The space for him? How many letters unanswered before he lets it finally take root and fester in his mind?

He could have died on that tour.

Would they even notice? Would they see when the letters slow until they cease? Would they wonder why? His mum, surely (maybe, possibly, but she has enough on her hands, besides, and he's never been a concern, in need of her assistance, before), but anyone else? Anthony on his honeymoon, Eloise a stormcloud personified, Benedict taking on the familial responsibilities, Fran preparing for the marriage mart and in Bath, regardless. Daphne, his closest sister, a mum running her own estate.

Greg and Hyacinth who enjoy his stories, but are children.

Pen who ignores him. No explanation, no goodbye.

Colin who has no one in his corner. Colin who travels city to city, putting on personas. Will they like me? What about now? Colin who has hardly anything to read from the people he loves. Who do not think of him.

And yet he thinks of them. Brings them back gifts, writes his recollections for them until it hits him that, oh, they don't care. They don't care what he's doing, how he's doing. They didn't want to hear it before, when he was there with them, and they do not want to hear it now, either. Did they even open those envelopes? Did they see them come through the post, just as proof he's alive, and shrug off the contents? Did they look? Once, Colin sends an empty page. No one notices. Easier, then, to send just the outsides. People only ever care about the outsides. Pretty and prim in neat packages, uncaring of what lies beneath. Sea sick on the rocking boats, staring up at stars on the continent, Colin grows aware, but not bitter. Sad, but resigned.

He loves his family, he loves Pen, loves them to grace, loves them to it's okay. It was him, he determines. Too chatty, his letters too long, uninteresting, his passions dull or droll, or else, worse, he's displeased them in some way. Colin who takes refuge in stranger's arms and homes, who dreams and tries to sate his curiosity. Colin who pretends, because anyone, anyone but him would be received better, he's sure of it. Colin who must talk too much, surely, and with no one to listen. Colin who learns to hush.

Yes. Remarkable- as in, I have many remarks about it.

How many times did he go to excitedly write of what he did that week, and stopped himself, knowing it was a waste? How many times did he write and throw into the fire a letter asking Why don't you see me? Why don't you care?

If he didn't make it, how long would it take for anyone to notice? A month? Two? A year? Would they wave it off as his frivolity, denounce him as a flake and fume about the funds? Would they wonder where it was he had lost himself off at?

He cannot fall into that, so, he writes in his journal, instead. Of the ache of it, of how he longs for connection, for understanding, for someone to take him seriously. He keeps it with him, this log of his discontent, of his folly and felicity, of his pitfalls and pains.

If he didn't make it, would they realize all that's left of him is what he sent them, not even a body to bury? Did he look over the side of a bow of a boat and look at the churn of the ocean and think of how many bones it held? Did he tip his face to the sun? How many new scars did he earn? Who did he befriend?

Who did he become?

Somewhere along the line, Colin learned. He learned the real him wasn't wanted.

Somewhere along the line, somewhere between Patmos and Paris, Colin left Colin behind.

And, somewhere along the line, Colin laid face to face with loneliness in his bed, and it wrapped its arms around him.